I Don't Trust Myself
by writingmonkey10
Summary: 1st chapter is just a review of episode "Insensitive" in season 3 - keep reading! House has ruined another date and Cuddy is ticked off and is convinced she hates him, but a turn of events prove that may not be the case. Huddy, Hurt!House, kidnapped
1. Chapter 1: Complicated?

**As much as I wish I did, I DO NOT own House, Cuddy, Wilson, his team and anyone on or related to the show. That's all David Shore. **

**This entire fic builds up from the episode "Insensitive" way back in Season 3. Yeah, I know we're on season 6 now but I've been dying to write something based on that episode. Bear in my mind this is my FIRST EVER story so constructive criticism will be LOVED! So review and review and review some more. Tell me what you think and who knows, I might post something else in a day or so…**

Chapter 1

"Nooo…" she moaned, mostly to herself. She wasn't even surprised, hell she had been expecting him since she got home. Why did she even open the door? Oh, yeah, she half-remembered. He'd just keep banging her door with his cane until she answered.

House didn't so much as crack a smile, though he was obviously pleased with himself. "Need a consult," he said, holding up the file for her. Cuddy didn't take it.

"I already okayed your nerve biopsy," she added, not about to enable him. Not yet, anyway.

"Need an endocrinologist," he shot back.

"Bennett's on call," she shot back just as fast.

"Won't pick up. His cell phone must be broken," he said quickly, an obvious lie. As if that had ever stopped him before.

"Mine's working!" she whispered loudly, pissed.

"Had to give you the file."

Cuddy glared at him and snatched the file from his outstretched hand and took a look. "I assume you're thinking Thyroid Storm. Done a hormone panel?

"Normal. TSH was on the low side," House answered not really paying attention. He peered around and then inside her home. "Is that…a cheery fire crackling nearby?" he added his eyes flashing devilishly at this new piece of information.

"No. What about CPK enzymes?"

"Elevated. 275. People light fire for themselves, but then they don't deny it…" House added as he scrutinized her expression. When Cuddy didn't answer or even look at him for that matter, a small smirk appeared across his face followed by the childish realization. "He's here?" he mouthed, the smirk expanding into a full blown grin of triumph.

_Oh, God_, Cuddy thought to herself, knowing this had been coming. _How can he act like a stupid 8__th__ grader and still be so damn annoying?_ "CPK isn't high enough. Potassium's what you'd expect because of the bronchodilators." She handed back the file keeping the straightest face she possibly could. House wasn't impressed. In fact, her 'straight face attempt' only allowed the deductions to continue.

"Oh my God!" House gasped immaturely, his eyes rolling up toward the sky. "You're not wearing a bra!"

"It's not a Thyroid Storm," she repeated firmly.

"You just met him!" he exclaimed, dropping the middle school act, frowning ever so slightly.

"I like him. And I like sex. Do I need to stitch a letter on my tops?"

"No. It might be worth taking an ad in the local papers," he suggested.

Cuddy smiled and looked inside her house before stepping out and right into House's personal space. He was going to get him now, she thought to herself and right before he could make some remark about her close proximity she quickly asked, "Do you like me House?"

He was taken aback by the question, truly. He said nothing and looked off the side for a moment before looking back at her. Cuddy caught it, but didn't pay it much attention. He was embarrassed, and he damn well should be. Cuddy continued, content that for once she had the upper hand. "I was on the phone with Bennett 15 minutes ago. His cell phone's working. Your MO is to avoid me at all costs. And suddenly you need my input on every move you make. I can only assume it's because I'm _on a date_." She said the last few words firmly, trying to drive the words home.

"When we met I noticed-" House began.

Cuddy shook her head and interrupted him quickly. "You noticed he was a shriner from the way he parted his hair. You noticed he was a momma's boy from the way he blinked his left eye. I'm not interested. I'm not impressed. There are only two reasons anyone would want to screw with me tonight. Either they're an altruistic, decent person who is worried about my well-being or…they want me for themself."

If she had said this to any other person, an awkward silence probably would have followed. But not House. And that was exactly why she had no problem talking to the bastard, twisted as he was. Already, the man with the genius mind was already about to shoot a witty remark. "You left out the third option: Evil bastard that just wants to mess with other people's happiness." He nodded slightly and made a face as if he was giving her grave advice.

She chuckled to herself and smiled and turned to walk back inside. "Good night, House." And with that, she closed the door quietly behind her.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

He was left out in the cold smiling to himself. He laughed softly to himself before turning away and walking toward his bike. But he couldn't help but think about what she had said. _Or…they want me for themselves_.

He wasn't going to lie, he wanted her for himself…well, her funbags he wanted no problem, but what about her? Their banter was obviously more, everyone knew that. But it was one of those things everyone knew but never talked about…like hot dogs. You knew the evils of where it came from, but you didn't think about it when you ate one. He smiled again, Wilson would have gotten a kick out of that metaphor.

He groaned loudly. Wilson. He was going to give him a lecture once he got back to the hospital. Not only about the patient but the stalking Cuddy stunt he was pulling off. He could see it now, "If you like her, just ask her out like a normal person." Then Wilson would remember the patient and lecture him about that too until House brought up the man-lady with eleven fingers who was dating that other man-lady…

He stuck the key into the ignition still thinking. Yes, he liked Cuddy but he knew it wouldn't work. Everyone knew it wouldn't work. They'd been playing cat and mouse for years, why ruin it when they were just fine the way things were. Changing that would just make everything more complicated, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was change. Not now. He revved up the engine and started towards Princeton Plainsboro. Time to break the CIPA patient's arm.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"We won't be bothered again," Cuddy said to her date, Don, on the way back to the living room, only to see him putting on his shoes.

"It's late," he said simply, his voice almost completely devoid of emotion. "I should go."

"Why?" she asked, confused.

He stood up and looked at her asking, "I part my hair on the left..? and I'm a shriner..?"

She slammed her hands into her face. _Damn it_. _Damn it, House_. "You heard the conversation…"

"Hmm," Don hummed in agreement.

"I'm not interested in him."

"I don't blame you."

"I only said those things so he wouldn't come back." Cuddy continued trying to redeem herself. He had to make her understand she didn't think those things. He was nice, friendly. A great guy, really.

Don took in a deep breath. "I don't really care about my job. I do it well, I provide a service, but my goal was always to make enough money to do the things I really like. Music, travel…"

"I like those things too," Cuddy said weakly. It wasn't nearly convincing and she knew it. She knew it was over.

Don shrugged. "You like them but they're not really important to you. I don't' know whether it's House, your job, or you just…thrive on conflict. But you should hear yourself when you're talking to him. Nothing else in the world's going on. You're focused, confident, compelling." He picked up his coat. "Don't take this the wrong way but…I'd like to go out with _that_ woman."

She smiled slightly…sadly. "I can get her on the phone."

Don smiled a little and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek before walking out of Cuddy's home.

"Damn him," she said to herself once he had left. She walked over the couch and sat down lazily, propping her head with her hand. House had ruined yet another one of her dates. What the hell did the man want? Did he _want_ her to be pissed off at him? Did he get some primeval thrill after causing her to lose every chance she had to get something she wanted? Something she needed?

She sighed. She'd go to work tomorrow and he wouldn't know a single thing had happened. He'd mention how big her ass was, make a joke about whether or not Don was "as big as she thought", and then ask for half of a patient's brain or an arm. She'd say yes and she'd be stuck wondering, what if that bastard hadn't ruined her date? What if he hadn't ruined any of her dates ever? Maybe she'd have someone now. Someone permanent. Maybe she would actually have a life outside of the hospital. Maybe she would have the kid she always wanted.

She couldn't help but think about what Don had said._ But you should hear yourself when you're talking to him. Nothing else in the world's going on._

Well, of course she was like that. She was focused and determined, especially if it had to do with her job. And House happened to be part of her job, a stressful part. She had to be completely focused when talking to him, she had to throw back equally blunt and sharp remarks at him when he mentioned her ass or anything ridiculous. House wasn't someone you could casually talk to. Otherwise he'd take advantage. So what Don had said…there was nothing to it, right?

She pursed her lips and shook her head. Of course there was nothing to it. She hated him right now. Who did he think he was, barging into her social life, ruining her plans? He didn't own her, control her. She wasn't his. And she'd have to show him that. House wasn't going to run her life.

_Face it,_ she told herself. _That's not why I'm pissed. I'm not pissed because he ruined a date. I'm pissed because of what Don said. Hell, I'm not even pissed…I don't even know what the hell I should feel. It's complicated...._He's_ complicated. _

No, no, that was all wrong. It couldn't be complicated. It _shouldn't_ be complicated. Annoying banter, that's all it was. And Don had read it all wrong, and because of that, he had left, thinking she wasn't capable of having a real relationship because she was too busy stuck in the cat-and-dog relationship with House.

She was stuck with no way out.


	2. Chapter 2: Whataya Want From Me?

**Again, I don't own House or anyone in it except for the guy at the end.**

Chapter 2

Two and a half hours late, House walked into his office and loudly dropped his backpack on the differential room table, startling Foreman who had fallen asleep. Chase was working on a crossword puzzle and Cameron was reading a book.

"Daddy's home! What have you got for me!" House sang. "Come on, children. Make me proud!"

"We don't have a case," Foreman said, stretching slightly. They had solved the CIPA case last night.

"What?!" House said, acting surprised. "I am disappointed in you! I give your life meaning and this is how you repay me?"

"We don't have a case," Foreman said, shrugging. "What do you want me to do about it?"

House made a 'do you think I care' face. "Go get me one. Know what? Don't get me one. You can make me some coffee. That's all you'll ever be good for, disappointment child."

Foreman rolled his eyes but got up to do it. No point in arguing. House scoffed and muttered, "Attitude check. Cameron!" he exclaimed suddenly, causing her to jump a little. "You have been promoted from coffee-girl, to go-find-me-a-case-pronto girl."

"I don't usually get you coffee."

"Hey, hey, hey! Accept the promotion, no matter how small. I'll be back in…." House looked at his watch as he turned to walk out the door again. "…sometime before lunch."

"Lunch is in half an hour," Chase noted.

"Well, what do you know…time to go find my money-buddy, love how everything works out so nicely. It's like a beautiful routine. It's so comforting."

"Hey, what do I do?" Chase asked just as House walked out the door.

"Funny you should ask, see I need to finish about three days worth of clinic duty by tomorrow or else Cuddles might not be as…cooperative…in bed." He smirked at Chase's expression and limped his way over to the elevator. He'd visit his money-buddy later when it was lunch. Right now, he already had plans to wreak havoc in a certain dean of medicine's office…

Once the elevator doors opened, he saw Cuddy standing at the nurse's station talking to the evil nurse Brenda.

"Oh, Cuddles!" House yelled from across the hall. All of the patients in the clinic that were still waiting to be called, turned their heads toward the outburst.

Cuddy didn't need to turn to see who it was. She handed Brenda a file and walked straight to her office, without turning around. Once inside, she slammed the door behind her, anticipating the sound it would make once opened again.

"What's the matter, Cuddy? Did Dave have a problem satisfying that administrative need of yours last night?"

"His name is Don," Cuddy said back half-heartedly, as she examined a few papers lying on her desk.

House rolled his eyes. "Dave, Don his name's not important." He then tenderly laid his free hand on his chest and said, "It's the heart that counts. Or I guess in your case, it's his swimmers that are more important. Scared they couldn't find their way?"

Cuddy dropped the papers. "What do you want?"

"I'm bored!" he pouted. "And lonely. Speaking of lonely, I'm broke. Interesting story, see my last hooker--"

"What. Do. You. Want?" Cuddy repeated again, grinding her teeth.

"My patient's boobs. We're removing them due to a procedure and I was wondering if I could take them home with me."

"You don't have a patient," Cuddy noted, ignoring the rest of his statement.

"Really? That's too bad, but I _guess_ I could make do with yours…?" House prompted.

She sighed and folded her hands against her chest. "Get out of my office."

For the second time in two days, House was again surprised. Which day had he _not_ commented on her ass, funbags, or any other large but pleasing part of her body? She couldn't be mad about his comment, unless she was pregnant – raging hormones and all. And he would've noticed if she was pregnant. So whatever she was mad about must have happened before he had even seen her today. She wasn't this angry when he had gone up to her house the night before so whatever it was had to be after that. Wow, House thought. Was their sex _that_ bad? No, that couldn't be it. Terrible or not, sex meant pregnant which meant demon offspring of the administrative species which meant a happy Cuddy.

Did the Dave-guy piss her off?

"I want a case," House said out of the blue.

"You don't have one, so work on clinic duty. You owe me God knows how many hours."

"But Chase is doing it."

"It's not Chase's job."

House scoffed. "Like that ever stopped me."

"House, I swear to God if you are not out of my office on the count of --"

"Where's darling Dave?" House interrupted.

Cuddy hesitated. "That's none of your business. And it's Don."

Hesitation. That was all House needed. "Oh, _I_ know what happened last night…dearest Darrell didn't want to be your sex toy or sperm bank, did he? Realized all you wanted to do was play with his fun parts?"

Cuddy didn't move. "Get out of my office," she whispered.

"He wanted a _real_ relationship. Well, don't feel bad, Cuddles. Uncomplicated sex is a good thing! Until you…well…complicate it with your desperate need to produce demon bastard offspring…"

House was nowhere near finished when Cuddy slammed all her papers down on her desk. "Shut the hell up, House! You don't know when to shut up, do you? Don't know when you've crossed the line, when to give it a rest? Of course, you don't. Because you're House: medical genius which automatically gives you reason to screw with everyone else's personal life just to have the satisfaction that you're not the only goddamn miserable person on the face of this earth. I'm sick of it, House. I'm sick of your ass getting in the way of my life all the time. I'm sick of you ruining whatever I lay my hands on. I'm sick of you thinking you have _any_ right to mess with me and I'm sure as hell sick of you having anything to do with me."

Cuddy knew it was uncalled for. She was mad at House for ruining her date with Don but she wasn't mad because it was _Don_. She was thinking in future terms. Don may not have been "the guy" but what about next time? The time after that? What if someone she truly liked came along and House ruined it for her because of his desperation to piss her off?

Or what if Don was right? What if the reason she was so unable to hold a relationship was because of House? Because of this never-ending verbal battle between them, she could never move on? House was holding her back and she never did anything about it.

What did that say about her?

That's what scared her the most. So now she was venting and blaming House completely and mercilessly. She was standing right in front of him, less than two feet away and all House did was stare back at her. Yeah, sure he probably shouldn't have messed up her date but that was what he did. She knew that. She was being over dramatic and…oh, God, was she crying?

Should he apologize? No, he didn't need to do. He hadn't done anything. Well, he had to do _something_…shit, he was being irrational.

"Where is this coming from?" he asked. "Because if this is all about Don, I don't need to listen to all this crap. And if it's about your inability to produce bouncy bastard babies, I _still_ don't need to listen to any of this crap."

Cuddy raised her arms and shrugged for a moment. "Go to hell, House. Just get out. I don't care if you go play with your gameboy or go home. Hell, you can walk of Wilson's balcony if that makes you happy. Just get out of my office." She stepped around House to walk back out of her office. "I don't need this."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Differential diagnosis, Wilson." House said as he picked up a bag of chips in the cafeteria line walking behind Wilson.

"Isn't that what your team's for?" Wilson answered as he picked up some yogurt and added it to his tray.

"Eeewwwww," House said, making a face. "You hate yogurt."

"No…you hate yogurt," Wilson answered.

"Differential," House repeated, "38 year old female exhibits sudden irrational aggression. Go."

"Is this a real case? Or one that you create when you're bored?"

"Does it matter? Someone's life may hang in the balance and you're playing games?" He scoffed sarcastically. "Gosh, Wilson you're a pretty lousy conscience." Then to the woman at the counter, he added. "He'll get this," holding up the bag of chips he was holding.

Once seated, Wilson said, "Who is it?"

"Who is what?" House asked playing dumb.

"Cuddy's 38, right? And she's mad at you…"

"How did you know she's mad at me?"

"When isn't she?" Wilson drizzled some ranch over his salad. "House this is a differential over Cuddy…being mad at you…she's not pregnant."

"I know she's not pregnant," House said, insulted. "I'd _know_. I'd be the _first_ to know."

"That's not creepy," Wilson sighed.

"She was completely irrational. She was mad that I ruined her date."

"Yes, that's _completely_ irrational. What was that woman thinking? Wait, you ruined her date? What did you do?"

"Wilson, keep up. I went to her house for a consult over the CIPA kid and she wasn't even angry about it. I guess Don left when I did. I went to her office today to make her life hell and she just blew up."

"Still waiting for the irrational part…"

"Telling me she was sick of seeing my face and sick of me ruining her life."

"She said that?" Wilson asked, his interest spiking.

"It was implied."

"House, she got pissed. So what? Stop ruining her dates."

House's jaw dropped in mock horror. "Wilson! I'm rationalizing the situation and you're telling me to drop it. I thrive on rationalizations. You really are a crappy conscience."

"House, I told you before. I don't like being your conscience. Sooner or later, I'm going to start slacking off."

House looked at him for a moment as Wilson at his salad and thought. Cuddy had the right to be mad but that was still dramatic, even for her. He quickly swiped Wilson's yogurt and opened it up, ready to snack on that.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Wilson said startled. "Eat your chips! I thought you hated yogurt."

House widened his eyes as he explained, "Well, _you_ like yogurt so I _must_ love it! You're my conscience remember? We're practically the same person."

"Yeah, that or, you know I like it so you must do whatever you can to make sure I don't get it."

House nodded as he took a spoonful. "That too."

Wilson rolled his eyes and continued eating.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

As soon as he entered his apartment, he took a Vicodin and threw the pills on the couch. He limped over to the fridge. He grimaced…looked like it would be another Chinese take-out night.

After making the order he sat down at the piano and began to play, completely forgetting the earlier events of the day. Almost. It was so like him, unable to drop it. Yet, he still couldn't place why he cared so much. It wasn't the first time she had gotten so mad at him but it was also the first time she had gotten _this_ mad at him.

Ten minutes later, he heard a loud rap on the door.

_Already?_ he thought to himself, thinking it was the Chinese food. He grabbed his cane from the side of the piano and made his way over the door. The person on the other side of the door kept banging, harder and harder.

_I'm getting there, Idiot_. House said about to lash out as soon as he opened the door.

"Okay, I get that you have other places to go but being cripple automatically--" House stopped right there, as he realized he was looking down the barrel of a hand gun. "Whoa…"

"Make any noise, and I'll blow your brains out."

**So what do you think? The last chapter was just a re-cap of an episode so here's my first 100% original chapter! Well, except for the characters and all so make that about 90% XD REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW AND REVIEW SOME MORE PLEASE!!! **


	3. Chapter 3: Shut Up and Let Me Go

Chapter 3

**Oh my gosh, you guys who reviewed made me feel so bad for leaving you hanging like that! But, hey, I got your attention, right? I don't know about you but I **_**like**_** cliffhangers…I just don't like the cliffhanger **_**endings**_**. So if that's any consolation I won't write a cliffhanger ending. But forget that, I'm nowhere near the end. I'll try and update ASAP. From the way things are looking, I might be able to do twice a week. Be happy I even updated today. I have a calculus test tomorrow. YIPES!**

**I don't own House.**

House breathed in and out quietly as he slowly took his eyes from the gun to the man. He had dark brown eyes and equally dark hair and wore an expression that told House he wouldn't hesitate if he really wanted to pull the trigger. He had no idea who this guy was.

House realized he was alone. This time, if he got shot, he'd die there. He wasn't at a hospital, he wasn't even out in the middle of the street where people would see him. If the man got pissed off, House was dead and he'd have a hard time talking his way out of that.

**okay, guys, I did my research. In season 6, House is 50. Since this story is taking place in season 3, he's gotta be 46 or 47.**

"Oh, come on, I'm almost fifty…there's nothing here…" House started, nervously. Yes, he was nervous. No, nervous was an understatement. He was terrified and he knew the man could easily tell. Wilson would have gotten a kick out of this if the situation wasn't this extreme. House? Terrified? Oh, good Lord, he was thinking of Wilson during what could possibly be his last moments on Earth.

The man grinned. "I don't need anything here. Drop the cane."

House couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, I would've done that years ago were it not for the gaping hole in my--."

The man's gun clicked and House stopped talking.

"I said. Drop. The cane."

House reluctantly let it go and felt the cold metal barrel press on the back of his neck quick as lightning.

"Okay, this is how it's going to work. I've got a white van parked right outside. The back is open. You're going to crawl into the back and shut it behind you. If you try anything funny, I pull the trigger. Right now. Simple. Got it?"

He didn't wait for answer, which was probably good because House would have given him one he didn't like which would have lead to his death. His captor pushed him toward the apartment entrance and slammed the door behind him. Surprisingly, even for him, House did exactly as he was told, no questions asked.

There were no lights in the van and the back half was completely cut off from the front unlike most. There were no windows so House was left in complete and total darkness. The room smelled like dead rats and old Chinese food, and he definitely knew what the latter smelled like.

He rested his head on the side of the van and sat up. If he was being kidnapped, the guy probably wanted a ransom. He'd probably go to Cuddy for the money and considering she was as mad as hell right now…

He sighed and reached into his pocket for Vicodin but found it empty. He quickly checked the other but it wasn't there either. Where was it? He never left anywhere without it; it was always in his pocket. He had taken one once he got home and then he had…thrown the bottle on the couch.

"Damn it!" he said though no one could hear him. He'd be in pain, maybe even detoxing by the time someone got him. Or by the time the crazy guy finally decided to pull the trigger. Whichever came first, and House had a strong feeling it was going to be the latter. Whether the man got his money or not.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy was locking up her office just as Wilson passed her.

"You're going home late," Wilson noted.

Cuddy turned around and said, "So are you. Besides, it's not too late, is it?" Cuddy checked her watch. It was 9:30. "I had a lot of paperwork to catch up on."

Wilson nodded and walked with her out to the parking lot, trying to think of a way to bring up House and Cuddy's argument earlier that day.

"Wilson, what do you want to know?" Cuddy said, looking up at him, smirking.

"Me? Nothing. I'm just--"

"I've known you long enough to know when you've been talking to House." Wilson shrugged and Cuddy continued, "Wilson, we had an argument, not World War III."

"You guys have lots of arguments but House never tells me the details."

"What details?" she asked suspiciously. Of course House would blabber to his best friend…Jesus, he didn't need to tell him everything though.

"Ah ha!" Wilson said snapping his fingers, grinning. "So it's something important! Something you would rather I didn't know…oh, this has to be good."

Cuddy rolled his eyes as she opened the front doors. "He didn't tell you anything, did he?"

"All I know is that he messed up your date. That's it. He didn't tell me much which is really weird now that I think about it. But it's been bugging him all day. You've been mad at him before but apparently you were completely irrational."

She frowned. "I was NOT completely irrational."

"House's words, not mine."

"He had it coming. What, did he think I'd never explode? I swear, Wilson, that man pisses me off…thinks he has some…divine right to mess with my life and--" she was rambling now, forgetting Wilson's presence.

"Uh…" Wilson interrupted. When she stopped he said, "You're rambling. You're angry and since you "exploded" – your words exactly –I think you should go talk to him."

"Why, is he angry?"

"No, he isn't angry. But…Cuddy, it's chewing at him…whatever you said obviously hit him somewhere. He'll never admit it to you or me, but he's probably at home thinking about it."

"Of course he's thinking about it. He's _dissecting_ it. A fifteen second explosion and he's trying to fit everything back together again so he can come and taunt me tomorrow. Besides, if I call him I'm only indulging his obsession. That's just an extra piece that he can mess around with. _You're_ the one who tells me to stop enabling him."

Wilson shrugged. _God, I hate being everyone else's conscience_. "Talk to him. Or at least call him and rant about something."

"Like what?"

"Anything! If you don't want to add a puzzle piece just call and…tell him that you caught Chase doing his clinic duty."

Cuddy scoffed. "I never call him. He calls _me_. He'd just dissect it." _I feel like a high school kid_, Cuddy thought to herself.

"Then…talk to him tomorrow. Even if all you do is tell him to do his clinic duty. At least he'll know you don't hate him."

_Yes! That's what he needs to know! I hate that man_. "I don't hate him," Cuddy murmured to herself.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Cuddy said as she approached her car. "Night, Wilson."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

When House woke up, his leg felt like a piece of shit, his head felt like someone was hitting it with marimba mallets, and, perhaps most importantly, he was feet and hands were tied.

_Well, this is degrading_, he thought to himself as he tried to get his bearings. He was in a basement-like room with no windows as far as he could tell. The walls were black and grainy and his captor was nowhere in sight.

How did he get here? He remembered being in the back of the truck and the God awful smell but after that… idiot must have drugged him. He had no idea what time it was, where he was….

"You've only been out for an hour."

Okay, so apparently the guy _was_ in the room.

House moved his fingers, trying to get some feeling. "You know, most thieves steal things not people."

"Well, obviously I don't need anything you have."

"I know. You want a ransom."

He heard his captor shuffle some papers in the corner. From what House could tell, he could be no more than twenty feet away. "So why did you suggest I was a thief?" he asked angrily and pissed off.

_You're pissed off? I'm the one who's supposed to be eating Chinese and watching General Hospital_. "Well, I was _trying_ to be polite. What can I say? That's just who I am."

"You don't know when to shut up do you?"

House had heard those words just this morning. But the circumstances had been much different. Back in Cuddy's office, he was in charge (well, in his own, twisted way) and…he wasn't tied up. "I don't have family so don't expect a big wad of cash to come bouncing your way tomorrow morning."

"You've got parents. But you're right; your dad probably wouldn't pay up. And your mom wouldn't do anything about it. She never did, did she?"

House was silent. One point for Crazy Maniac with Gun. He grinned devilishly, though House couldn't see it, and continued, "Oh, I'm sorry, is your daddy taboo? No, I wasn't going to go there for the money, I was thinking Lisa Cuddy. Heard she has thousands of dollars set aside just for your lawsuits. Think she could spare a couple? Besides, she's hot. Think I should invite her over and have my way once I'm done with you?"

House ground his teeth. "I swear to God if you touch her, I'll--"

His captor interrupted sighing slowly, "—be able to do nothing about it. You'll be dead in seventy two hours. And I intend to make those 3 days living hell. Before I pull the trigger, you would have begged for me to do it days ago."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy was lying in her bed and still couldn't sleep. She turned for the third time that minute and looked at the clock. 10:45…still. She sighed out loud and kicked the covers off, trudged to the bathroom and opened her medicine cabinet. She was tired even though it wasn't all too late, but she still wanted to sleep.

After taking a sleeping pill, she collapsed back in her bed and closed her eyes. Why couldn't she sleep? She wasn't an insomniac so there was no real medical reason. It _wasn't_ House. She knew that much…

In the end, she had decided that he would play with his mini puzzle until he got bored or got a bigger one…like a real case. She'd have to go hunt one down for him tomorrow.

But she still had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. A premonition…maybe something bad was going to happen tomorrow. Had she switched off the stove after making dinner? Did she lock her office when she left? Where was her driver's license?

She sighed. Who was she kidding? She picked up the cordless phone next to her bed and dialed the house number she had memorized years ago. _Might as well get this over with._

After five rings, she heard the answering machine.

_This is House. I'm dead or don't want talk to you. Don't leave a message and don't expect me to call back. _

_Beep._

"House, it's me. Pick up…Now…I know about Chase doing your clinic duty….I'm only wearing underwear…" she goaded. When House didn't pick up she continued, "Okay, I guess you're not really there but...I've got a case for you so you need to pick up now. I'll call your cell." And with that she hung up.

Damn it, why did she tell him she had a case? He'd either call back, which was highly unlikely, or show up to work tomorrow expecting a case. And when he realized she didn't have one, she'd never hear the end of it. _He probably won't listen to his messages anyway_, she reassured herself. She tried his cell phone and when he didn't pick up, didn't bother leaving a message.

Well, she had tried, hadn't she? That's all that mattered. She'd talk to him tomorrow. She closed her eyes and slammed her face against the pillow, willing herself to sleep despite the gnawing feeling in her gut.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

The second time House woke up, his leg didn't feel like shit. It felt like a shark was biting into it in a constant steady motion. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but he knew that was _exactly_ what it would feel like a few hours from now.

His leg spasmed – hard. House shut his eyes together and bit his lower lip, stifling a groan. His first instinct was to grab his thigh, but his hands were still tied behind his back.

"It's about seven in the morning now," his captor said. "Oh, and you're girlfriend called your phone. Didn't leave a message though." When House said nothing he added, "I would have woken you up but I was just being polite. What can I say, that's just who I am," stealing House's very words. "I'm Ethan by the way."

House couldn't care any less if his name was Ethan or the Devil Incarnate. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, he was starting to sweat, he was hungry and his leg hurt like hell. Every wave of pain followed the next in an entire movement, without a break. All he felt was pain, and he knew it was going to get a lot worse.

"Does that hurt?" the Ethan asked. There was a small window in the corner of the room where light was finally seeping through. Ethan stood up from a desk he had placed by the window and walked up to House with a gun in his hand. With a swift motion, he kicked House in the thigh – right where it hurt the most.

House cried out in agony but remained seated upright. Ethan held the gun to his head as House gasped for air. He barely heard his captor whisper in his ear menacingly, "Did that hurt too?" With that, he lifted his gun and struck House's head inches above his eye. House was immediately dizzy but still managed to sit upright as his eyes rolled back into his head. He could feel his own warm blood trickling towards his eye and he closed them to keep the blood out. One last time, Ethan kicked House in the thigh and House was forced to lie on his side, gasping, _Oh, shit…God…_ _Oh my God, it hurts so damn much…_

Ethan bent down and whispered once more in his ear, taking some sadistic pleasure in House's pain.

"Welcome to hell, House."

**Dun dun dun….another cliffhanger. Well, it's not as bad as the last one, right? I'll update soon but I've got a lot of work to do the next couple days so we'll see…hey, fingers crossed another chapter comes out by Friday! **

**my secret closet readers….review!!!!!!!!! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! Any sort of review gives me motivation and who knows, if I get a lot…that chapter you're looking for may come out slightly earlier…as in Wednesday?? MMHMM…got your attention now haven't I?**

**But seriously guys, review. You have NO idea how motivated I become after reading them.**

**Oh, and constructive criticism is always welcome! Or any facts I messed up. I know some people corrected me about Don's name so thanks to those people! :) **


	4. Chapter 4: Gone Too Soon

**Guess who got a new chapter in BEFORE Wednesday? BOO-YAH!!**

**LOL…okay, so my funny moment of the day. In English we watched the 1993 version of "Much Ado About Nothing" and Robert Sean Leonard was in it! He was Claudio and he was such a lover boy and I was like, "Yup…that's my Wilson!". He was much younger too and so cute! Hee hee…it made me smile and all I did during the movie was look for Wilson's face. Oh, it made me sooooo happy. **

**I don't own House.**

Chapter 4

"Did you talk to House?" Wilson asked Cuddy as soon as she entered the hospital.

"What have you been doing, waiting outside the door?" Cuddy deflected as she unlocked her office door.

"Did you talk to House?" Wilson repeated, entering her office behind her.

Cuddy sighed. "What's with the third degree, Wilson? I called but he didn't pick up."

Wilson looked surprised. "Really?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Well, he never picks up his phone so that's not a surprise. Do you even know what his answering machine message is?"

"No I don't mean that. I just didn't expect you to actually call him."

Cuddy stopped walking and turned around to face, frowning. "What?"

He shrugged. "You've yelled at House lots of times before and you never called him to make sure he didn't get the wrong message. So the fact that you called him means that either you _know_ whatever you said to him yesterday was uncalled for _or_, you think House might take it the wrong way. And if you're worried that House might take it the wrong way….it shows that you care about what he thinks."

Again Cuddy rolled her eyes but smiled slightly and dropped her purse and coat behind her desk. "Wilson, I think…you've been hanging around House for too long. Go do your job."

Wilson smiled as well. "Sure, Cuddy." On his way out, he quickly remembered why he had come down to begin with, "Oh, and when you see House tell him I got a case."

"Sure."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

It was noon. House wasn't at work and Cuddy was worried. House was a lot of things but he rarely just skipped work. He still came, at least to try and steal a peek at Cuddy's ass, or turn human beings into life size puzzles. She had called his home and cell but he still hadn't picked up. On her way to the elevators, she spotted Cameron.

"Dr. Cameron!" she yelled after her before she could enter one of the clinic rooms.

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Have you seen House?"

"No, none of us have."

"Where's Chase and Foreman?" she asked noticing that none of them were in the clinic. And she had just been to the ER.

"They went out to lunch. It's twelve; I'm going to join them after this patient." She grabbed a file and added, "You should ask Wilson. He'd probably know."

_Right_, Cuddy told herself as she entered an elevator right as it opened. She shouldn't assume the worst, she told herself. Maybe he was just sick. Once upstairs, she marched towards Wilson's office glancing at House's room to check if he was in there playing his gameboy or messing with his ball. He wasn't, which only made her walk a little faster to Wilson's office.

"Have you seen House?" she asked once inside.

Wilson was on his way out to lunch. "No, I haven't…I've been expecting him to come by though. I'm off to lunch and I am his walking bank account. What, you haven't seen him?"

Cuddy shook her head and pursed her lips. "I've called his phone but he won't pick up."

"He's probably sleeping in."

"Until noon? No, something must have happened." Cuddy's worry was clear. Anyone a mile away could have read it on her face.

"Hey, no need to assume the worst. Look, I'll go check his apartment."

Cuddy nodded before turning to go back to her office. She still had some work to do. "Alright."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" Ethan asked, playing with his gun. He was sitting in his chair in the corner.

It was taking all of House's strength not to scream. _Now_, it felt like a shark was eating his leg and he was definitely starting to go through the first symptoms of withdrawal. He was sweating and burning up at the same time and feeling nauseous. He hadn't thrown up yet which was a good sign, but the chronic pain in his leg was making it difficult to see the bright side of anything.

He took in a shaky breath and closed his eyes. He needed a distraction. All of a sudden, he felt something cold at his throat and he struggled to open his eyes again.

Ethan was in front of him holding a knife. He used the end to lift up House's chin to look at him.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" Ethan asked again.

"Mommy abandoned you and you were raped at age six?" House shot back.

The blow House was expecting never came. He felt a pinprick in his arm and at the same time the metal at his throat disappeared. A millisecond before it happened, he realized Ethan hadn't put away the knife. He was about to use it. House screamed as Ethan slowly dug the knife into his left arm, right above the elbow but about an inch in, he quickly yanked it out, multiplying the pain.

"I wasn't supposed to use that yet," Ethan replied, cleaning the blood on the knife with House's shirt. "Not for awhile, but sometimes you give me no choice. Do you want to know I'm doing this?"

House would have said something else that would have earned another stab, but Ethan didn't give him a chance to answer.

"Because I want to see you suffer." He moved House's face to face his with the blade of the knife. "I want to see you hopelessly broken. I want to see you begging like a dog for mercy. I want to see you writhing in pain and for once in your god-forsaken life, I want to see you quit."

When he let go, the first wave of nausea hit him hard. House quickly turned away and threw up the contents of his stomach less than one foot away from him. _Shit, it's going to stink in here_, he thought to himself.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Fifteen minutes later, Cuddy's office phone rang.

"Dr. Cuddy," she answered as she scrutinized a file.

"It's Wilson," he answered somewhat frantically.

"Yeah?" Cuddy said, dropping formality, worried already. "What is it? Did you find House?"

"He's not here but his bike and car are still outside and his cane is on the floor right next to the door. His Vicodin is on the couch beside his jacket. Wherever he went it wasn't planned."

Cuddy's heart was racing. He didn't go anywhere without his cane. He couldn't _get_ anywhere without his cane. It was the dead of winter in New Jersey so he needed the jacket – he wasn't that stupid. And the day he didn't take Vicodin, she'd host a party in his honor.

"Call him again."

"I already called three times before I called you. Cuddy, I have no idea where he is."

Cuddy hesitated before whispering, "Call the police. Umm, Wilson, I have to go."

"Alright."

_Click_.

Cuddy dropped the file she had been looking and rested her chin on her hand, staring off into space. Where was he? She hoped he hadn't done something incredibly stupid. After all he couldn't have gone far without a jacket and cane.

She sighed loudly and tried to force herself not to worry. She couldn't help but think it had been something she had said yesterday. No, that's impossible. What could she have said yesterday that…

_I don't care if you go play with your gameboy or go home. Hell, you can walk of Wilson's balcony if that makes you happy._

She shook her head, biting her lower lip. House wasn't an idiot. Yes, he was. But he wouldn't take it literally…she was angry and he knew it, that's why he had gone off to figure it out. If the words had hurt him, he would have slumped over to his own secluded part of the world – and he hadn't done that.

_Oh, God_. Her face fell into her hands. _What if it's my fault? What have I done?_

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"My brother was in the army," Ethan said, sharpening his knife in the corner.

House rolled his eyes though in excruciating pain. He wasn't going to give Ethan _all_ the satisfaction before he pulled the trigger. "Boo hoo."

"He got sick so they had to send him back to the States," Ethan continued, ignoring him. "They figured out what was wrong with him…can't remember what the hell the virus was that was killing him but it was terminal, and he'd end up dying in pain."

House was have snorted if he didn't have to concentrate so hard on not screaming. But he still spat out, "So…you're means of revenge is to inflict pain…because, you know, which psycho doesn't do that? _Everyone_ knows that killing one person is going to bring back another. What were people thinking when they abandoned all the sacrifice rituals?"

Ethan slammed the knife down and marched right up to House angrily, waving his gun around. "It was you! You bastard! You were his doctor and you saw him in pain and did nothing about it! You told me all that bullshit about not being able to up his morphine even though he's going to die. You bloody well could have done something and you did _nothing_."

House closed his eyes and grimaced as another even stronger wave of pain radiated from this thigh through the rest of his body. The spasms were hurting more and it hadn't even been a full day. He was going to crack. "I did what I could. My job was done and if I had upped his morphine he would've gone into a coma. Personally, I wouldn't care but my boss would."

Ethan laughed. "Oh, yeah she would've cared. You know she'll never fire you no matter what crazy scheme you come up with. She okayed some crazy nerve biopsy for your last case, am I right? Which could very well have paralyzed your patient? She lied for you in court to save your sorry ass and she knows your addicted to a narcotic but does nothing about it. You know why she won't fire you."

House shivered as a million different thoughts ran through his mind. _How did he know about all this? _Pain. _What else did he know?_ Pain. _He knew nothing about his life…_pain…_what he had gone through, what…_pain…_he had suffered through…._pain_…this was none of his damn business…_blinding pain.

In the corner of his already half closed eyes, he saw Ethan raise the gun above his head and slam it into House's face. Then again, he raised the gun and slammed it on the other side of his face. Over and over again until House was completely oblivious to the numbing feeling all over his face, not until he smashed the gun into his bum leg. House let out a blood curling scream, clenching his fist and shaking all over. He couldn't keep still as Ethan punched him over and over again in the same location.

He was beaten, mercilessly and House was on the brink of unconsciousness. It was a struggle to breath and black spots decorated his vision like stars of the night. He was lying on his side, shaking uncontrollably with blood splattered across his face. He was numb, and the pain he felt was a long stretch of never-ending agony throughout his entire body almost at the same level of the pain in his leg.

The next time he heard Ethan, he was much further away – so far away, House thought the room had expanded. Then he realized it was his ear…his right ear…he couldn't hear from it as well.

"You know why Cuddy won't fire you," Ethan said. "Because _this_ is what she sees. The helpless cripple. She feels sorry for you; she feels guilty. You hate that, but it's better than what your dad did to you, right? Your dad hated you…he still hates you and after the infarction, all he saw was his cripple failure. You never did anything right, so he'd punish you, push you. Do you remember when you had to sleep outside in the dead of winter for a night? All the meals you missed altogether because you were two minutes late for dinner? Nights you were forced to stay awake and still go to school in order to build character? Do you remember the number of times he pushed you, beat you, dragged you around by the arm and treated you like a worthless dog?

"And what did your mom do? She didn't do anything. You tell yourself it's because she couldn't divorce him because she had nowhere else to go. But you know it's because she couldn't be bothered. Your dad hates you and your mom couldn't care any less."

House could still hear him but he was still drifting, about to slip into oblivious unconsciousness. Ethan realized it and kicked him again in the thigh. House groaned but didn't move.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you'll want to stay awake for this. Time to call Lisa."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Cuddy!" Wilson started as soon as he entered her office. His face was flushed after running in the snow and he had been speeding like a maniac on the way back. Cuddy looked up from what she had been doing, or what she _hadn't_ been doing. Since Wilson's last called, she had just stared off into space, wondering where House could be and what could have happened. "I called the police…they should be here s--" He stopped when the phone rang.

She immediately picked it up before the first ring had ended. "Dr. Cuddy," she answered.

"Unless you want to see Dr. House in a body bag, you will do exactly as I say."

Cuddy's heart jumped and for a moment she stopped breathing.

"Lisa, tell me that you can hear me."

The man's voice on the other hand terrified her and when he called her by her first name, she shivered. Oh, God this was the man House was with? House had been kidnapped.

"Yes," she whispered, afraid to say too much or the wrong thing.

"I can't hear you, Lisa."

"Yes," she said a little louder. "Where is House? What have you done to him?" Wilson eyes almost popped out of his skull and he walked closer to Cuddy's desk.

The man ignored her. "I expect one million dollars in cash in two separate extra large briefcases in 48 hours. No doubt you've already called the police so I'm not going to bother with that. I will say this: if I were you, I'd tell them it was a false alarm."

"Where's House?" Cuddy demanded, whimpering. "I want to talk to him!" _This isn't happening, this isn't happening_, she tried to tell herself. But the voice on the phone was real…too real. And it terrified her. At the hospital, she was the woman in charge, but in this situation, she was this man's puppet – and that scared her. Being a puppet didn't guarantee House's life.

She could practically see the man on the other end smile as he answered, "You're going to have to trust me now, aren't you? One million dollars in forty eight hours. That's your assignment for now."

"No!" She yelled, crying freely now. "No…no, I won't get it until I know House is alright. I want to speak to him…please…let me talk to him."

At that precise moment, she heard two loud shots fire on the other end of the phone. "House!" she screamed, "House!" _No, no, no, no, no, no…._

"Lisa, I don't think you understand how serious I am. I am very content with killing House and not receiving my money. But if I get my money, there's no need to end House's life. Murder can get so complicated at times. It can come back later and bite you. Very difficult to wipe yourself clean. You hear so many stories of murderers being found years later. But all I'm asking for is a ransom. It's easier this way for me and for you. Either way, I will somehow get my satisfaction so I suggest, you get me the money. Do we understand each other?"

Cuddy was almost completely incoherent as she blubbered, "Okay…okay…I'll get what you need…don't hurt him, please…I'll get it."

"Thank you, Lisa. It's one o'clock in the afternoon right now. Expect my call in twenty four hours."

_Click_.

Cuddy left the phone on her ear even after she heard the dial tone. Wilson heard the tone too and was hesitant to say something. Finally, after almost a minute, he said, "Cuddy, what happened?"

She didn't answer. She was still in total shock. She always thought of House as a person who could get his way out of anything, or at least talk his way out of anything, he was untouchable, invincible – even with the limp. Now, knowing that he had been kidnapped, she realized he wasn't invincible – he wasn't the all powerful Gregory House that could get his way out of trouble. He was in danger and if things didn't work out, he'd be dead.

But what made Cuddy realize the gravity of the situation was House's silence. Knowing House, he would probably insult his captor (as stupid as he could be sometimes) and dissect his captor's motive. If House was in the room with the man, he would have yelled something so that Cuddy would hear, even if it was something idiotic like, "I miss looking at your ass, this guy's isn't as pretty".

But House had said nothing which caused her to assume the worst. Was he tied up? Gagged? Was he hurt? Dying?

"Cuddy, you need to tell me what happened. What's going on? Is he okay?"

Wilson's voice brought her back into the present and she replaced the phone. "He's…and the man…" Cuddy cracked and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"Hey," Wilson whispered. He went over to her and held her, allowing her to sob into his arm.

"They took him Wilson…that man…I don't know who he is but he took House and he wants…one million dollars…but it's not going to make a difference because he's probably going to end up shooting House anyway. He's going to kill him, Wilson…I know he is."

"Shh, you don't know that. The police are on their way and they'll help us figure this out. We'll get him back. House is a fighter, he's not going to let him win."

"I told him to go die, Wilson," Cuddy confessed, looking at him and trying to wipe away the flowing tears. "I was mad at him yesterday, and I told him to go kill himself, to go walk off a balcony. That's the last thing he heard me tell him. He's going to die, Wilson."

"He's not going to die, Lisa," he said, using her first name. Something he rarely did. "He's not going to die. He's not…" he repeated it again to himself, as if to convince himself. He had to believe it.

"Wilson…if he dies he's going to die alone with that man in pain. And he'll die thinking I hate him, thinking that I want him dead. It might not be my fault, but I can't help and I still made it worse."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Many hours later, House had thrown up again and the smell wasn't helping. He hadn't eaten all day – his last meal had been with Wilson and that was hardly a meal – all he had was a bag of chips and Wilson's yogurt.

He wasn't hungry due to the nausea, but he was thirsty. He was throwing up and dehydrated, definitely not a good combination.

But the worst part was the pain.

It had only gotten worse and now he wasn't only shivering. He was cold and burning up at the same time, his entire face was covered in a terrible mix of dried blood and sweat and his eyes were red and watering. He'd groan through the strong spasms in his leg but couldn't help but whimper when it got worse. During the worst of the pain, he remained silent, too overwhelmed to even make a noise. He would go through periods of time where he was completely unaware of his surroundings and his eyes kept rolling to the back of his head. His head was hurting, his muscles ached, he couldn't move with hurting something else even more and breathing at times seemed too hard. His body was covered with bruises from early beatings the stab wound on his arm was still bleeding.

He wasn't losing too much blood which alone was a miracle but he was still worried. He'd been hit on the head so many times he was surprised he was still conscious. He might not have any brain damage but he had probably suffered a concussion.

He wasn't going through withdrawal alone. It felt like the infarction all over again, but this time, the rest of his body was hurting too. And the pain was so bad, he couldn't even scream anymore. He wanted to sleep but couldn't. He wanted to distract himself but had no idea how.

House had been in the room when Ethan called Cuddy. He hadn't heard anything she said until Ethan randomly fired two shots in House's general direction. Both shots had purposely missed House but Cuddy had been convinced he was dead. Despite his bad ear and even from his side of the room, he could hear Cuddy screaming his name. He wanted to scream that he was okay, tell her that she was fine and that when she came to get him, she should be wearing something that made the wait worth it. But he couldn't even keep his eyes open for too long.

He thought about Wilson and how he must be chewing himself inside and out. House knew he'd keep his head and that he'd be the ones making the decisions with the police. But Cuddy was probably taking a trip on the guilt train. She was probably blaming herself…

_The helpless cripple. She feels sorry for you; she feels guilty._

Ethan's voice brought House out of his own shelter in his mind. "Day one is over, House, and Cuddy cooperated quite nicely. Forty eight hours left. Look at the bright side; if Cuddy gets the money ready before that, I might shorten the delay…get rid of you a few hours before, save you the pain."

Ethan stood up and left the room. "Goodnight House. Don't die on me just yet."

**Okay, guys and gals, that was a long chapter…over 3700 words or so. And I did it before Wednesday! PLEASE REVIEW! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! Thanks guys for the support! **

**Sorry if House is OOC but I mean, even House has his snark-limits right? Like when you feel like the biggest pile of s**t. **

**Oh, and according to some group of mythbuster- type people (I don't know exactly what they were), you CAN fit one million dollars into two brief cases. They'd have to be super large briefcases but briefcases nonetheless. If someone finds something more accurate, tell me and I'll go change it. :)**


	5. Chapter 5: Misery Business

Chapter 5

**The beginning of this chapter is kind of blah but it gets better I swear. I don't know anything about how cops do stuff so I tried to keep it super general. I probably still messed something up anyway. Oh, well.**

**I don't own House.**

The police had come to the hospital merely minutes after the phone call from House's captor and at first, Cuddy simply couldn't handle it. Except for Cuddy and Wilson, no one else was aware that House was missing. So when the police arrived, it was instantaneous chaos and panic. Cameron was on her way back from lunch when she saw two police officers walk into Cuddy's office. Worried, Cameron had followed them inside.

"What's going on?" Cameron she had asked when she saw Cuddy's red eyes and Wilson's stressed countenance. "What happened?"

Wilson sighed, not particularly thrilled to deal with her. The police ignored her and introduced themselves. The man was Officer Zachary Tyler and the woman was Detective Laura Weston. Without missing a beat, the two began questioning. It didn't take long for Cameron to catch on.

"House is missing?!" Cameron yelled. "Oh, God, where is he?"

_Good question_, Cuddy thought to herself. _If we knew where he was I don't think we'd consider him missing, now would we?_

"Cameron, please, not now," Wilson begged dragging his hand over his face. "I'll tell you later."

Cameron nodded and reluctantly left.

The rest of the encounter was a blur to Cuddy. She had allowed Wilson to answer almost all of the questions while she confirmed everything he said, quietly nodding. They had asked to see the security tapes in case his captor had followed him from the hospital. That had eventually led to a dead end. They had gone to search House's apartment just in case which also had been a dead end.

Then they had asked for Cuddy to tell them exactly what the captor had said and what she had heard. She had told them, reliving the moment and even though she hated every second of it, she knew it was necessary.

"He said he'd call back in twenty four hours…about one o'clock tomorrow," Cuddy added.

Detective Weston nodded. "We'll record the conversation and try and trace it. At least this gives us time to prepare for that."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"House is missing," Cameron announced as soon as she saw Foreman and Chase. Wilson had given her the general details after his meeting with the cops. Foreman and Chase were both helping out in the ER.

"What?" Chase asked, certain that there was a point to this game she was playing. After glancing at her countenance, he realized that she wasn't playing a game.

"House is missing," she repeated. "He was kidnapped and the guy called Cuddy about an hour ago. He wants a ransom."

Foreman was the first to express doubt. "Are you sure? House could just be at home watching his soaps. What makes you think--"

"House's captor _called_, Foreman. Wilson checked Houses' apartment and his cane and Vicodin were still there."

That was all the proof Chase needed. There were two things that were always within House's reach – his cane and a good stash of Vicodin. Especially after the Tritter case; he had made it a point to pop Vicodin publicly as if to shove it in everyone's face that he beat a cop. Never mind the fact that Cuddy had lied on his behalf.

Foreman just rolled his eyes as he made his way over to a patient who had just gotten stitches. "He had it coming."

Cameron's eyes widened. She couldn't believe this. She followed Foreman and Chase followed her. "How the hell did he have that coming? No-one has a kidnapping coming!"

"He's a pain in the ass," Foreman yelled back. "He doesn't listen to anybody, expects no consequences, and treats the rest of the world like crap. He probably pissed this person off. Maybe yesterday, maybe three years ago. You'd think being shot once already would at least make you start treating others with even a little slice of decency but it didn't!"

"You want him to express humility?" Cameron questioned. "Is that what this is about? You're on the side of the wacko with the gun that's probably going to shoot him anyway!"

Foreman sighed and examined his patient's stitches. "I'm not justifying anything. You shouldn't go around kidnapping people when they piss you off but I'm just saying…what goes around comes around."

Chase laughed a little. "Never saw you as a karma believer – you're the one who stole Cameron's article way back when."

"And weeks later I was stuck in an isolation room on the brink of death. You can't treat everyone like crap for years and expect nothing bad to happen to you."

"What about the Tritter case?" Cameron added.

"That he got out of?"

"You wanted him to go to jail?"

"No!" Foreman said, stopping what he was doing. "That has nothing to do with it! All I'm saying is that maybe if House wasn't an ass he wouldn't deserve any of this."

Cameron was silent for a while. She still couldn't believe Foreman thought that what House was going through was a deserved punishment. None of them knew what he might be going through with the kidnapper. None of them knew truly why he was the way he was. She was angry that Foreman could be so cruel.

"No one deserves this," she spat as she walked out of the ER.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy had left the hospital at eleven. It was two thirty in the morning now and she still couldn't sleep. She had walked around her house over fifty times, tried to watch TV and listened to music, but nothing could take her mind off House.

Her imagination was running wild. Whoever the guy was, he obviously knew House somehow and hated his guts. What was he doing to him? Hurting him physically? _Oh, God, please not that_. House already went through so much pain on a daily basis, the last thing he needed was a pain overload.

Speaking of pain, he probably didn't even have his Vicodin with him. Wilson had found it on the couch next to his jacket. It had been over twenty four hours since his disappearance and she was sure he was experiencing the beginning of withdrawal. She had wanted him to detox of Vicodin for years but definitely not like this.

She wanted to talk to someone but it was late. And she herself needed to get some sleep as well if she wanted to stay awake at work. The man on the phone had said that he wanted the money in two days but the police said they would have the briefcases ready by the next call tomorrow if necessary. She wanted to reach House as soon as possible – the sooner he was rescued, the less time his kidnapper had to kill him.

Cuddy jumped off her bed and went to the medicine cabinet to find some sleeping pills. She took two and crawled back into the bed and switched off her lights, waiting for the pills to take effect. But she found herself worrying again.

_Stop. There's nothing you can do now. He'll take care of himself. He'll be fine. He's a fighter, and he won't let this guy get the best of him…he'll make it…I know he will…he has to_…

He had to make it, because if he didn't, she'd never forgive herself. The last time she saw him, she had made it clear that she hated him when that wasn't true. If he died thinking that she would be happier with him gone…

_Stop,_ she reminded herself again. _He's going to make it. You'll talk to him…make it right._

He had to make it. She didn't know what she'd do with herself if he didn't.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_House is on the cold concrete floor, shivering, sweating and lying in his own vomit. His eyes are half closed but all she can see are the whites of his eyes. She runs up to him, trying to help him and see the extent of the damage but with every every step she takes, he seems to go further back into the distance. _

"_House!"_

_The man is standing above him. He's kicking him and insulting him. He has a gun with him and she's scared he's going to use it soon._

"_Don't use it! Please, stop!" She's crying and her face is wet._

_His face is wet too, but he's not crying. It's a terrible mixture of sweat and blood. After what seems like hours, she reaches him, trying to comfort him._

"_I'm here, House…"_

_He's lying in fetal position but he's not shaking anymore. He looks like he's already dead but he manages to whisper, "It hurts…"_

"_It's okay, I'm going to take you home now," she reassures him but she has no idea how to do that. There are no doors anywhere and the man that was beating him is gone. _

_House coughs and blood comes spewing out, staining his mouth and Cuddy's hands. She caresses his face, saying, "We'll get you out, ok? He's gone. He's not coming back."_

"_I'm tired…"_

_All of her thoughts come out of her mouth. "No, no, no, no, no, no…no, House, stay with me..please, stay with me…"_

"_Make it stop…" his eyes are closing slowly but his face is still contorted in pain._

"_It's okay…"_

"_No one's coming. Let me go, Cuddy."_

_She's wondering what he means, oh, God, what does he mean? What does that mean? She hears two gun shots and jumps. When House doesn't move, she assumes the worst. "House!" she yells, shaking him a little. _

_He grimaces in pain from her touch. "Let me go, Lisa."_

_It's then that she sees the gun lying in her lap. It wasn't there a few seconds ago and she's terrified of the ugly thing in her possession._

"_Why do you want it to hurt?" House whimpers. He's whimpering…begging…Cuddy shakes her head, tears still streaming down her face. "Why do you hate me?"_

_She remembers their argument the other day and immediately a pang of guilt courses through her body. "I don't hate you, House…you know that…stop it…"_

"_Why do you want it to hurt…" he whispers. "Let me go…"_

_She knows what he means now. The gun is still in her lap and she looks down at it, shaking her head. She can't do this to him, even though it's so hard to see him like this. She won't do this. _

_House sees her hesitate. "Please…"_

_She picks it up with one hand and looks at him. "House, I can't…please, don't make me…I can't…"_

_A shot rings out right next to her and even though she didn't pull the trigger, she knows where it came from. House's eyes are still half opened, but he's not breathing. She doesn't see pain on his face anymore but she sees satisfaction and triumph. He's escaped from the pain because of her._

Cuddy woke up in a cold sweat, crying. Her heart was racing and her breathing was just as fast. She quickly flipped over and checked the clock next to her bed. It was seven thirty in the morning. Still shaking, Cuddy slowly sat up in her bed and wrapped the covers around her. House had died in her dream and it had all felt too real…terrifying.

"I'm not going to hurt him," she said out loud as if to convince herself. "I'm not going to hurt him. He won't die because of me…I'll make sure of that."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House had been up all night, putting up with the pain. It wasn't until early the next morning that he finally fell asleep, and that was only for a few hours. Ethan had kicked him in the stomach hard to wake him up and House had thrown up in response. _Shit, why did he always have to do that?_ House thought to himself. _Duh…because he's a psychopath? Stop asking yourself stupid questions. You're not Chase._

"Rise and shine, House. Time to make a phone call."

He grunted but stayed awake. "Yippee," he grumbled, trying to sit up. It was almost impossible to lift his head from the concrete floor but he did, groaning as he did so. When he sat up, he tried to move his bum leg to a more comfortable position, but if he had known the pain it would have caused him, he would have left it as it was.

"Aaah!" he yelled as his thigh sprouted to life and sent signal after signal of pain directly to his brain. "Mmmph…" he muttered as he closed his eyes. The shaking started and he clenched his fist and bit his lower lip. He took in multiple deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself.

"Ooooh, your leg must really hurt right now, right?"

"And you just might have gotten smarter since I last heard you speak but wishful thinking doesn't do much for either of us now does it?" House said through bouts of pain. It wasn't even a good insult, compared to the ones he spat at and everyone living on a daily business, but he was in pain. He didn't want Ethan to think he could win _completely_.

Ethan kicked him again in the same place. He punched him over and over again in the abdomen, his chest, his face. Then he bent down and held House by the neck, tightening his grip ever so slowly. House's eyes bulged out of their sockets and he wheezed, trying to take in as much as oxygen as possible.

"How bad does this hurt, House?" Ethan whispered. "I'm killing you, House."

_Before I pull the trigger, you would have begged for me to do it days ago._ That's what Ethan had said, and now he was acting on it.

House was wheezing, his vision was failing him now. He was taking in oxygen through a very narrow gap in his throat. It wasn't much, but enough to keep him conscious and aware – pure torture.

_Should I finish, House?_, he heard Ethan say from what seemed like so far away. _Should I close it off completely? Kill you now? Make the pain end?_

_Yes…_House's mind told him. He had already taken too much. He was hurting all over, he felt like a train had hit him and he was lying on the ground alone, left for the dead. If he had been outside in the middle of nowhere, vultures would have gathered, waiting for him to die. He was tired of feeling all this pain. Tired of staying awake. Tired of trying. If he was going to die anyway, why waste time? Why couldn't he just close off his air supply altogether and let him die? Why did he have to torture him like this?

_Tell him yes…_

"Go to hell," House managed to whisper.

Ethan sneered and tossed him aside like a rag doll. House quickly turned to fall on his back before his head hit the ground first. His hands and feet were still tied, making things even more difficult. He gasped and wheezed, gulping in air. Now his throat hurt as well as the rest of his body. He was hungry and thirsty too.

_Damn it, House_…his mind told him. _Why didn't you let him finish?_

_I can't…_

Ethan smiled, ignoring him. "How about we give your boss a call, hmm?"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy, Wilson and Detective Weston were all in Cuddy's room by one o'clock waiting for the call. Weston had everything set up and Wilson was standing next to Cuddy.

"You can do this," Wilson reassured her.

"I know…I better," she said. Wilson only nodded in reply.

"Remember," Weston said. "Keep him on the line for as long as you can. The longer he's on, the easier it will be to pinpoint his location."

As soon as she said that, the phone rang. Cuddy stared at it as if it had grown horns and a mouth.

"You ready?" Weston prompted.

Cuddy nodded and picked it up. "Y..yes?" she mumbled.

"Do you have what I need Lisa?" the crazy man said.

Cuddy nodded again but then quickly realized her mistake. "Yes," she voiced. "Yes, I have it."

"Good job, Lisa. Now I want you to bring the money tomorrow at--"

"I want to bring it today," Cuddy interrupted. She knew she was really risking it by saying that but she didn't want this man to have him for longer than necessary. "I'll bring whatever you need today; I just want House back."

The man was silent on the other end and Cuddy was scared he had hung up. "Hello? Hello!" she shrieked frantically.

"Five o'clock today. The alley behind Motel Inn, where Stone Creek and West Avenue Drive meet. I expect to see you alone, by yourself. I don't want to see any cops or any friends with you. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. Five today," she confirmed. Hesitantly, she added, "Can I talk to House?"

"Now, Lisa you'll have to--"

"Please," Cuddy said, the tears coming again. She had told herself to be strong; to not allow any weakness to show, but she just couldn't help it. "Please, let me talk to him…I just want to hear him…please…"

She heard nothing on the other line for a while and she started to worry she had screwed everything up. "Hello! Hello?! Don't hurt him, I'll come today and drop it off! Hello?" _Oh, God, no…_

"Stop screaming, you're hurting my ear," said a familiar voice.

She smiled and sniffed, wiping the tears from her face. She never knew she'd be so happy and excited just to hear that voice. "House…"

"Mmph," he mumbled. He sounded tired. And in pain.

"Oh, God, House, are you okay? Tell me you're okay…"

He grimaced. "You sound like Cameron. All I can say is this is all definitely a year off clinic duty material."

"House," she started. "What I said…about my date…I didn't mean it. You know that, right? I don't hate you." She didn't care that Detective Weston was listening. None of that mattered…House just had to understand.

"Of course you don't hate me…I'm your love monkey."

House didn't sound as snarky as he usually did when he said it, but she wasn't sure if it was because he was in pain or if it was because he didn't believe her – and it hurt her.

"House--"

"Today at five, Lisa." House's voice was replaced by another that she feared. His voice sent chills down her spine.

Cuddy didn't have the opportunity to answer back. Instead, an ominous dial tone bid her farewell.

"You did great, Dr. Cuddy," Weston said as Cuddy replaced the phone. "I've got his location…it's not far from the location he gave you which is good. Are you sure you want to do this?"

What type of question was that? "Of course, I'm sure…" Cuddy answered, not sure what she was getting at.

Weston nodded and continued. "You won't be alone, Dr. Cuddy. We'll have people stationed at every block hidden. If anything gets out of control we'll take care of it before any harm can come to you or Dr. House. Are you sure you want to make the drop off?"

Cuddy nodded firmly. "Yes, I'm sure...but I want Wilson to come." She turned to him and said, "You don't need to be there with me…I just need to know you're around."

"I would have come whether you wanted me to or not," Wilson answered. He glanced at Weston, hoping it wasn't a problem.

Weston pulled out her pager and typed something in. "Then let's get ready."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House had only said a few words to Cuddy but it was a struggle to talk at all. While talking to her, he was biting his lip so he wouldn't scream and his fists were clenched as his entire body spasmed. But he had at least given Cuddy hope, even if he was going to die before she got there. It would be his last gift to her, he told himself. His way of saying they were fine the way they were. He felt no anger towards her and he wanted Cuddy to know that. He didn't want to die and leave her guilty. If he had done nothing to help her all these years, he had at least done that.

"Change in plans, House," Ethan announced, kicking him swiftly in the thigh again. House took in a shaky breath through the nose and cringed, shaking uncontrollably. "You're girlfriend is on her way. Which gives me only four hours to have some fun."

House didn't like how happy he sounded when he said that. "What, no tea parties?"

Ethan held up his knife. It was still stained at the tip with House's blood. Instead of stabbing him again he reached out for the rope that bound House's hands.

_Now, why the hell would he untie me?_ he thought, but he wasn't about to voice his concern. The rope was coarse and had been digging into House's bare skin, cutting his wrist and making them sore. But instead of cutting the rope, Ethan held the blade against his forearm, next to his elbow.

_Oh, shit_…House thought as he braced himself, prepared for the incision.

It came…over and over again. Each cut a little more than a couple centimeters away from the other. He worked his way down toward his wrist. The incisions weren't deep enough to hurt anything vital but they were painful nonetheless. The thing was, the pain wasn't due to the cut itself – it was due to the repetition. The initial pang as the knife sliced through his skin. House grit his teeth, trying not to flinch each time.

_Oh, God_…_shit…_

The incisions themselves were long – two inches probably. And Ethan cut him slowly each time, adding to the torture.

When he was halfway down his arm, Ethan asked again, "Do you want me to finish it, House? Do you want me to stop? Forever? Do you want the pain to stop?"

House couldn't reply. He felt his warm blood drip down his arm as Ethan got closer and closer to his wrists. After a while, he stopped wincing and found himself looking _forward_ to each incision. Ethan was _that_ much closer to his wrist…as soon as he got there, it would stop hurting – for good.

"I'm almost at your wrist, House. Nine more cuts."

_Nine…nine more…_

House's breathing was becoming shallow. He was giving up. Each cut stung but he was getting closer to the end.

"Six more, House. Just six more. When I get to your wrist, should I finish it? Do you want me to finish it? Do you want me to end it? Four more, House…"

_Shit, hurry up! _Ethan was going to end his pain once and for all. It would stop hurting soon. Three…no more pain…two…

"Do you want me to end it, House?" Ethan grabbed his face and forced him to look at Ethan right in the eyes. House's head was limp. Ethan slapped him across the face and when House did nothing, Ethan said, "Do you want me to kill you, House? Answer me, you son of a bitch! Do you want me to kill you? Should I kill you now? End the pain?"

_Yes…tell him yes…escape…tell him yes…_

House took in a shaky breath. "When hell freezes over," he muttered.

Ethan smiled and punched him in the face once before leaving him crumpled and broken on the floor. House understood what he was doing. He knew House was too stubborn to say "Yes, kill me," even if that's what he really wanted. House always wanted the last say whether or not it would help him or not. House's refusal to beg was giving Ethan exactly what he wanted – more reason to torture him.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Five minutes until five, Cuddy was standing alone in the alley. Police officers and cops were up on the roofs of buildings hidden and some were even in the buildings themselves. A few cars were parked along the road so Weston decided to have some officers park in regular cars and wait inside them. Wilson was with one of the cops in the building closest to Cuddy. He could see her but she couldn't see him.

She was nervous but tried not to show it. House was alive – she had spoken to her and she had the money – well, the fake money. None of the bills were real. She wasn't alone, but she felt alone.

_You have to be strong, Lisa_, she told herself. _For him, at least…stay strong for him._

"Lisa Cuddy?" someone behind her asked.

She whipped around. It was a young man, no older than twenty five or so wearing blue jeans and a casual t-shirt. He didn't sound at all like the person she spoke with on the phone. In fact, he sounded worried. Nervous.

"Yes."

"Ummm….do you have what he needs?" he asked hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure he was saying the right thing. Was this man working with House's captor?

She lifted up both briefcases and the young man took it. "Where's House?"

Something in the man's eyes changed that Cuddy couldn't place. Later, she would learn it was guilt. "He's finished."

Cuddy's heart sank and immediately, the hidden officers that were surrounding them attacked.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Ethan wasn't an idiot.

Of course Cuddy had called the police, but he wasn't about to let that stop him from getting his money and finishing off House. So after his latest session with House, he had gone out to take a stroll around town. The first man he came in contact with, he threatened with his gun. The task was simple – go to that pretty lady with the briefcases and take them from her. Ask her if she has what "he needed" and if she asks about someone named House simply tell her that he's finished. Then bring the briefcases. Screw it up, and Ethan would shoot from where he was – and Ethan never missed.

Of course the man had done what he said. He would've run or at least warned the lady had Ethan not pinned a small microphone on him. Ethan had told him he could hear him but the man couldn't find the microphone. It was either die or give the crazy man with the gun the briefcase.

Ethan had explained his plan boldly to House.

"Not bad, huh?" Ethan said once finished.

House rolled his eyes, though he felt half dead.

Ethan came closer. "What don't you think it's a big deal? I'm guaranteed what I want." He leaned closer and whispered into House's good ear, "And I'm also going to take that hot boss of yours with me. The two of us…"

"No…" House murmured, stirring.

Quick as a flash, Ethan took out his knife and quickly dug it into House's side, pushing all of it inside. House gasped and yelled, his eyes widening at the sudden inflicted pain. Ethan continued to whisper in his ear, "Yeah, I'm going to take Lisa too. I won't kill her…I'll let her live…but she's not coming out of this one hundred percent either."

"I'll kill you…" House whispered as he took in a shaky breath. He looked him in the eye, "I swear to God-"

Ethan yanked the knife from his side and House screamed again and collapsed on the floor, moaning in pain. Outside, Ethan heard a man yell and more commotion. He smiled. "Looks like our friend has been caught. Time to go get Lisa."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

The man was down in an instant. Wilson wanted to jump out of his hiding hole and get Cuddy and tell her it was okay, but there was a funny look on her face. Like she didn't quite believe what she was seeing. Shock? Definitely…but there was something else there…

Wait, what was happening? Cuddy turned around and Wilson saw a flash of metal beckon her forward. All the other officers were too busy getting the other man, they didn't notice Cuddy being sent through a small door in the back of the alley. Oh, shit…they had the wrong guy. They had the wrong f**** guy. The man that had kidnapped House had just used this other man as a distraction. He was taking Cuddy away.

"Hey!" Wilson yelled. The officer that was waiting with him in the room wacked his arm, trying to get him to shut up and not do something stupid.

"It's the wrong guy!" Wilson yelled, knowing that he would have to explain. "You guys have the wrong guy!"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"You have the money?" Ethan asked.

Cuddy nodded and quickly gave him both briefcases. She was in a dark room that had one rusty window. Despite that, she still couldn't see a thing. She could hear the man in front of her and some shuffling somewhere else in the room. And it smelled like old vomit. She herself was about to puke. Where the hell were they? "Where's House?"

Ethan didn't answer. He flicked on a switch that she didn't know existed and saw Ethan for the first time. He had dark eyes and hair that frightened her. She felt like she was looking down a dark, empty abyss of hell. He pointed behind her. Cuddy turned around and shrieked, not believing her eyes.

"House!!"

He was lying on the floor and he looked like he was about to break into pieces. His face was bloody and sweating at the same time and his arm and said were bleeding and his mouth was half open.

Was he dead?

"House!" she screamed again, running up to him to examine the damage. He was breathing but his side was bleeding so much…he had been stabbed there…the blood was still seeping out. He wasn't tied up but she could tell just by looking at his wrist that he had been earlier. His arm was covered with sharp, straight cuts…at least twenty.

The man had tortured him.

Cuddy's hands were bloody after touching him but she took his face gently in her hands and leaned towards him, crying. "House, can you hear me…tell me you hear me…Please…please…"

"Hey," he gurgled softly, closing his eyes slightly.

"Hey, House…we're going to get you out of here…I swear…"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

She had no idea how amazing it was to hear her voice, he thought to himself. To know she was here. He might die in pain, but at least he wouldn't die alone.

Part of him felt sick that she would have to see him like this. He could tell that looking at him was killing her. He had to tell her it was fine…that it wasn't her fault. "It's not your fault…" he said just as Ethan yanked Cuddy away from her.

"House!! Let go of me…you son of a bitch! You bastard…let go of me! What have you done to him?" She was angry now, crying still but angry. House tried to sit up despite the stab wound in his side. It hurt like hell, but he did it anyway.

"Why do you look at him like that?" Ethan said, grabbing Cuddy by the shoulders. "Why do you see so much in him? Look at him! That's what he is…he's a mess, an ugly cripple! And you treat him like he's a king! You let him get away with whatever he wants because you see so much but there's _nothing there_!"

Cuddy slapped him right across the face, screaming, "He's _everything_ to me, and he's more than you'll ever be!"

Ethan out of the corner of his eye, saw House try and stand up. In all honesty, Ethan was impressed he could get that far, considering all the wounds and his leg. Instinctively, Ethan reached into his jacket for his gun and fired – aiming for his abdomen.

House instantly collapsed back onto the ground with a moan. The sound of his body colliding with the concrete was sickening and Cuddy was driven over the edge.

"House! What are you doing?! Why are you doing this? You have your money! You--"

Ethan pressed himself towards Cuddy and up against a wall and smashed his lips against his. Cuddy tried to fight him off but he was too strong. Ethan was pressing onto her, holding her face with his hands and all Cuddy could do was whimper.

_Not on my watch…_ House thought to himself. His stomach was killing him but he reached for the crowbar that was a foot or so away from him. Every moment threatened to throw him over the boundaries of consciousness but he tried anyway. When he had reached it, he threw it at Ethan's head, despite how heavy it was, getting his attention.

House had missed but he had Ethan's attention. Ethan pulled away from Cuddy and let go, pulling out his gun. Cuddy quickly stepped back, worried about what Ethan was about to do.

"Let her go, damn it," he muttered, trying to move.

"I'll shoot you right now if you think…"

"Kill me," House commanded. He'd give Cuddy time to get out while he distracted him with what Ethan wanted most. This was what Ethan wanted – he wanted House to beg…he wanted him to grovel on the floor, begging for mercy, or in this case – death as a means of escape. "Kill me now."

Cuddy looked in horror at House was giving Ethan permission to do away with him. He was doing this to give her time, she knew. But she couldn't just leave him. "House, please…"

"Shoot me…" House said slowly, ignoring her. "Shoot me."

Ethan smiled. So he had found House's breaking point. It was the girl. He walked up to House, ignoring Cuddy and slammed the gun into House's jaw.

"Stop it!" Cuddy screamed, running up to House, trying to protect him. Ethan simply pushed her aside and hit him again on the other cheek.

"Cuddy, go…please…"

Ethan used the gun to move House's head so he would face him. "That wasn't so hard was it? That's all you needed to do before…tell me to kill you and I would have ended it long ago."

Cuddy listened to everything that was happening and tried to get closer to him. She took his hand, pleading. "Please, House…don't leave me…please…"

Ethan shoved her aside.

"So this is it, House? This is how the medical genius known as Gregory House died. Alone, with his captor, begging for death…"

"Stop it!" Cuddy said, trying to move Ethan. For the last time, Ethan pushed her aside and she fell to the grownd a few feet away.

"Lisa…" House said, loud enough for her to hear. There was so much he wanted to tell her. He didn't want it to be like this, but he had no choice. He didn't want to leave her like this. It was hurting him to see her in so much pain.

But he wasn't scared to die now. He was ready. Everything she needed to know was in that one word and how he said it. _Don't cry for me, Lisa…Lisa…_

"Goodbye, House," Ethan said.

He fired.

**Yall, I know this evil but it must be done. This chapter is well over 5500 words and if I continued to write, it would end up being a lot longer – too long. I had to cut it short or else I could have gone on FOREVER!! I guess 5500 words really isn't long but if I kept going I'm pretty sure the chapter would have been too long.**

**Pretty please don't hate me.**

**And sorry if House is OOC…again…hey, the guy is being tortured, I wouldn't exactly act "in character" myself…**


	6. Chapter 6: Live Like We're Dying

**You guys must hate me. **

**It's been a while since my last update hasn't it? Days….and usually I'm updating every other day. Sorry guys. AP Biology lab practical Monday, AP Bio test Tuesday and Calculus test Wednesday. AAAGGHH! But I still managed to fit in chapter-writing time! Plus, I had a little bit of writer's block in the middle. Maybe you'll find it – it's the not as interesting/not as well written section somewhere in there.**

**Anyway, enjoy! :) **

**Don't own House.**

Chapter 6

"_Goodbye, House," Ethan said._

_He fired._

A moment before the bullet escaped the barrel, the door that led to the basement collapsed and officer after officer rushed inside, fully equipped. Two other doors neither Cuddy nor House had been aware of were also broken down and the door that led to the stairs was quickly opened. Four potential exits – all of them blocked – Ethan was surrounded.

But that still didn't mean he hadn't pulled the trigger. All the officers had succeeded in doing was distracting him. But Ethan was an excellent marksman. His brother had once noted that if Ethan had a gun and you were in sight, you were as good as dead. He never missed. Period.

Ethan didn't miss, but the distraction was enough to move his hand and, consequently, the gun from its intended target – House's heart. Instead, the bullet spun out of the barrel and lodged itself inside House's left lung. House jerked back and was silent.

By the time Ethan had fired, the police already had him by the arms. Wilson ran into the room despite specific orders to stay put. Once inside he ran up to Cuddy who was sobbing next to House.

Oh, God, no…

"You son of a bitch!" Wilson yelled and he whirled around and punched Ethan squarely in the nose. One of the officers pulled him away and Wilson went back to Cuddy and House.

"House?" Wilson whispered.

Cuddy didn't even know Wilson was sitting next to her. Everything that was happening around her including Ethan's arrest seemed to be taking place in an alternate universe. All she noticed was the hole in House's chest and the warm blood seeping out of it. He was breathing, but wasn't moving and was losing consciousness – fast.

"House, stay with me," Cuddy whispered, bending down so he could hear her.

House jerked slightly and coughed up blood, wheezing. Even in the face of death his medical mind was working. He'd been shot in the lung - almost instant internal hemorrhaging, probably in his gut too. His mouth tasted like metal and he could feel blood coming up from his throat.

"We need an ambulance in here!" Wilson yelled.

"There's one already outside on standby, they're coming in," Weston answered.

"Hold on, House," Cuddy said, gently holding his hand.

_I can't…_ "I'm sorry," he tried to say, but more blood just escaped his mouth.

Cuddy could tell what he was saying but didn't want to believe it. "Don't be sorry…you're going to be okay…you'll get out of this. I know you will…don't give up on me, please…"

He felt numb first, starting with his toes until he could no longer tell Cuddy was holding his hand. His eyes closed as everything around him went black. The last thing he saw was Cuddy sobbing, begging him to stay. He had caused her that pain despite his feeble attempts to make his death not as painful. And for that, he was truly sorry.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"House!" Cuddy screamed when he closed his eyes.

"He's breathing and he has a pulse," Wilson said, checking his wrist. "He's just unconscious. He'll get out of this."

The EMTs brought in the gurney as Ethan was taken out of the room.

"Holy, shit…" one of the EMTs said after taking a look at House. Cuddy could tell what he really meant was, _How the hell is he still alive?_

"Okay, on three. One…two…three!"

They quickly lifted House and placed him on the gurney wheeling him out and checking his vitals quickly on the go. As he was wheeled into the back of the van, one of the technicians noticed Cuddy and Wilson try and get in as well.

"Hey!" he said. He understood the need for friends and family to be with the patient, but they just didn't have too much room or time to deal with the emotions. Emotions simply slowed them down.

"We're doctors, he's a coworker," Wilson explained.

The technician sighed, trying to make a quick decision. "We don't have room for both of you."

Though Wilson wanted to make sure his friend was okay, he knew Cuddy would drive herself insane if she couldn't be with him. "Lisa, you go…I'll ride with one of the officers. He'll be fine." He quickly left as to not slow them down and Cuddy climbed into the back with them. Already, House had been punctured by tubes and IVs and an oxygen mask was on his face. He looked so helpless and broken – small in comparison to everything that was connected to him. It was the exact opposite of the towering six foot two man she constantly bickered with on a daily basis but still respected. For once, she didn't see the annoying, snarky and narcissistic genius that drove her up the wall and at times seemed so intimidating. She saw defenselessness.

PPTH was a seven minute drive – the closest hospital but Cuddy couldn't help but wonder if it was close enough and in four minutes, she got her answer.

House flat-lined.

"We're losing him!"

Cuddy steadied herself and covered he mouth with both of her hands and focused on breathing. _He'll make it…he always makes it. _

"Charging…Clear."

House's body jumped up for a moment and collapsed back on the bed, lifeless. _Please, House, please…_

"Again…charging…clear!"

Again, House's body jerked but remained still afterwards.

_Please, no…_

"Charging…clear!"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

As soon as she got the message on her pager, Cameron ran over to the clinic to find Chase and Foreman. The two were once again in the ER.

"They found House." Cameron announced, getting both of their attention. "We need to get the OR prepared and a couple units of AB blood ready."

"An OR?" Foreman asked, for the first time genuinely worried. "What the hell happened?"

Cameron was about to leave to send a message over to OR. "I don't know…Wilson paged me and just told me to get both ready fast."

A little more than seven minutes later, House was wheeled in by the EMTs. Cameron, Chase and Foreman were already by the doors waiting for him. For a moment, all three of them were speechless at the mess they saw.

"Jesus," Foreman muttered as he grabbed hold of the gurney.

"What happened?" Cameron asked. She hadn't realized it had been this bad.

"Shot twice – left lung and abdomen," one of the EMTs started, "and he's losing a lot of blood. That needs to get taken care of first. Concussion but you need to check for head trauma. Flat lined once on the way."

"You have that OR ready?" Cuddy asked quickly, transforming into the dean of medicine she needed to be. Chase saw her red and eyes but quickly answered. "Yeah, he's going down there right now."

Cuddy nodded and Chase followed Cameron and Foreman down the hall.

"Still think he deserved this?" Cameron asked bitterly.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy was in her office finishing up the last two day's paperwork when Wilson came in. She had observed part of House's surgery which had gone well – no complications. We was currently in ICU, recovering and unconscious.

"How're you doing?" Wilson asked standing next to her.

Cuddy sighed. "I don't know."

She knew she should be feeling better. The hardest part was over with – getting him to the hospital in one piece. The police had arrested Ethan so he wasn't going to come back and House was still alive. Plus, he hadn't flat-lined since the incident in the ambulance. So far, it looked like he'd make a 100% recovery.

Or, at least, a physical recovery. Cuddy had no idea what to expect when he woke up and didn't want to think about it. Would he want to talk about what happened at all or would he quickly descend into his usual snarkiness in an attempt to let things be as they were?

"Cuddy, there's no need for you to worry. They've got the guy…Ethan Ratcliffe I think it was…Apparently his brother was--"

"I don't want to talk about it, Wilson…not now at least."

Wilson was quiet, completely understanding. "You need to get some rest, you know. Go home. It's over. House will still be here tomorrow."

Cuddy smiled weakly. "Yeah. I know..." Hesitantly she added, "He flat-lined in the ambulance."

He sighed. "Cuddy, he's going to be fine-"

"I was scared out of mind," she continued. Now mostly talking aloud to herself. "I kept thinking, what the hell am I supposed to do if he dies? I've known him since college and it's not one of those things you casually ponder. Like when Diana died…"

Wilson smiled. "I'm sure House would be flattered you compared him to Diana. Or terrified."

"No…he'd probably just rub it in my face every time he needs me to okay some crazy procedure. 'Can I cut off my patient's left arm? What do you mean in your dreams? What If I died tomorrow, then you'd really wish you let me have my last procedure.'" Cuddy laughed a little, visualizing the encounter. "But honestly, Wilson with everything that's happened…"

"He's going to be fine. He always is. This isn't his first near death experience. His, third, I think…" He was about to turn around and head home when Cameron quickly rushed in, panting slightly.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked. What could be so important that she decided to say whatever it was in person rather than just page her?

"House is in a coma," Cameron said quickly. Then without waiting for a reaction, she said, "He did fine during the surgery with no complications and he's been in ICU for a while now…he was on a ventilator--"

"Did you do a CT scan of his brain?" Cuddy asked. God, if it was his brain…She could handle any crazy complication that came her way but if it had anything to with his brain…

"We did a CT before he went into surgery," Cameron answered. "We saw some intracranial pressure so we drained the excess fluid which seemed to fix the problem--"

"_Seemed_?" Cuddy pressed, annoyed. _Seemed_ just wasn't the word she wanted to hear.

"It _fixed_ it," Cameron insisted. "We know it did. He was fine until now. We're going to get another CT scan of his brain to see what changed…_if_ anything changed."

"Okay…" Cuddy said, closing her eyes for a moment and massaging her temple. "Okay…tell me what you find out."

Cameron nodded and awkwardly left the room. Wilson was still inside but had said nothing the entire time, still in shock himself. House, his best friend, was lying unconscious on a hospital bed – specifically in a coma. It was hard to believe that just the other day the man was stealing his food during lunch and making unnecessary comments about which nurse was doing which doctor.

Cuddy was sitting back down behind her desk, completely silent. "Wilson…" When Wilson said nothing, she continued, "What are we going to do?"

"They're going to do a CT…"

"I don't mean that." Now the tears were flowing down her cheeks unchecked. "I mean what are we going to do without him?"

"Lisa, you can't just jump--"

She slammed her hands on top of the papers strewn across her table. "Damn it, Wilson, I'm not jumping to any irrational conclusions. There are two things that are going to come out of this; he's going to die, or he's going to live and if he lives, he's still not going to be the House we knew as of two days ago! Don't you realize that?"

When Wilson again said nothing, she sighed and continued quietly. "You weren't there when that bastard was torturing House. I was only in there for a couple minutes but the things he said…the things he _did _to him, Wilson. If I so much as tell House to finish up his last fifteen minutes of clinic duty all I get is all the attitude and banter I've learned to associate with House. You can't insult House or order him around and expect him to just…_take_ it.

"But when he was Ethan. He took it. Every piece of goddamn shit Ethan threw his way, said to him…House just took it. He didn't argue with him, insult him, call him a sexually frustrated bastard or anything. It was like he was…broken. All the life in him was gone before Ethan even fired. I don't know what that son of a bitch said before I got in there, but whatever it was, he found what made House tick. Whatever he said is what really killed House before the bullets could."

Cuddy didn't want to say the next part to anyone. If the cops came back and asked about what happened when she was in there, she would leave this next part out. But Wilson was House's friend and she knew she could trust him. Wilson had the right to know. Cuddy bit her bottom lip as she replayed those few minutes in her mind, shuddering. "Ethan wanted to rape me…but House said…he told him…House told Ethan to kill him. He told Ethan to shoot him. House was trying to buy me time to get out, I knew that. But I still can't get that picture out of my head. I can still see House lying there, shot, in pain and asking Ethan to kill him so that I could go."

She looked up at Wilson whose expression was completely unreadable. Everything was there including confusion, horror and shock. She should've stopped ages ago, but she wanted him to know why this was killing her so much. "Have you ever seen House like that…have you ever seen him _beg_? Beg to be killed."

"God, Cuddy…" he started walking over to the other side of the desk. He couldn't imagine what Cuddy was going through now and what House had been forced to endure while she was in that room with Ethan. He was beginning to understand what had really happened inside. The police's job was finished – they had the guy. But House would be suffering a lot longer.

Cuddy buried her head in her hands and wept. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Wilson. I don't know what to do…"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy didn't stop by House's room until one in the morning. Wilson had already seen him and had gone home as well as the rest of House's team. She told herself the reason she hadn't seen him yet is because she wanted to make sure everyone already had the chance.

Like hell that was the reason. She was terrified. She didn't know what to feel. She was feet away from his room and she was hesitating. He wasn't awake so there wasn't going to be a conversation. No one else was in the room so it wouldn't be in any way, shape or form awkward. So why was she so damn scared?

As soon as she walked into the room and looked it at him, she realized why. The breathing tube that emerged from his throat seemed like a formidable beast and the many IVs, tubes and tapes connected to him seemed unnatural. He was being pinned down by all these machines that were meant to save him and though he was unconscious, it still looked painful.

She walked closer to see his face. The blood that had covered his face earlier was now clean but purple and blue bruises still decorated his jaw and cheeks. His eyes were closed but he didn't look like he was asleep, it didn't look like he was resting. In all honesty, he looked dead. The bruises that covered his chest were covered by the sheet but his left arm was exposed. Each cut had been stitched up so his arm looked like some unnatural appendage that had been stitched on afterwards.

Cuddy sat down in a chair next to his bed and took his left hand.

"Hey," she whispered.

House's only reply was the slow yet steady rise and fall of his chest.

Cuddy sighed. "Wake up, damnit. Please. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do without you around. It's going to hurt when you wake up, you know. But Wilson and I…we'll be here when that happens and for the weeks after. You know that, right?"

She paused, feeling stupid, but continued anyway. "They got Ethan. He's in jail now. The cops and Detective Weston are probably going to want to talk to us but by that time you'd better be awake or I'm going to give you extra clinic duty for the rest of your life."

She reached over and weaved her fingers through his hair, then gently past his cheek until she reached his rough stubble.

"I'll see you tomorrow, House."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Two days had passed. House was still in a coma and Cameron now constantly wore her death glare look wherever she went. Especially when she was near Foreman.

The team had a case but none of them were getting anywhere. Every suggestion Foreman had was quickly shot down by Cameron which was definitely a first. Usually it was Chase and Foreman at each other's throats.

Foreman eventually got pissed off. "Why do you keep shooting everything down?"

"Because all your ideas are _wrong_ and _stupid_," Cameron answered back.

"And by stupid she means you, not the ideas," Chase clarified.

"Look," Foreman said knowing quite well Cameron's real reason for chewing him to pieces. "I didn't stick House in the death chamber; I didn't give the crazy guy House's address. I did _nothing_ so none of this is my fault."

"He's lying there in a coma, possibly dying and you were convinced he somehow deserved it. Who are you, God? You don't get to look at a person and decide what punishment he deserves."

"I didn't mean anything like that when I said it."

"That still doesn't take it back."

Foreman laughed and said, "So what the hell do you want me to do? Raise my magic wand and make it all better?"

"Well, considering you can't do that I expect you to shut the hell up and allow me to hate you for the next couple weeks."

"Yes, well, I'm not as attached because I've never had a crush on the guy."

"Yes and I'm not as evil because I don't hate him."

Chase rolled his eyes, "Foreman doesn't hate House."

It was the first time he had said anything during the argument so both Foreman and Cameron, naturally, wanted to hear his thought process. Chased obliged. "It's obvious you don't hate him. You still work here. You could've quit, found yourself another job that probably paid better and your boss would give you a piece of chocolate every time you got a case right. But you didn't. Instead you're here, complaining about how much you hate House and how he needs some humility. What pisses you off is that he's a pain in the ass but he's always right and he doesn't give a damn what the hell you think unless it's right and makes sense. You say that's why he pisses you off but you're no different. You like him."

Cameron turned to look at Foreman's expression. Foreman rolled his eyes. "Well it's not like I plot his death or go home and create bombs to plant in his apartment. I can stand him. Do you like him?" he countered.

Chase shrugged. "I haven't quit. He's a pain in the ass and knows too much for his own good, but yeah, I like him."

Everyone was silent for a while. It was some sort of mutual understanding and forgiveness, especially on Cameron's part. So maybe she was overreacting. Foreman didn't know what House was going through when he had said House deserved it. And no doubt lots of people at the hospital thought it was about time something happened to the man. Maybe she should give Foreman a break.

"Alright," Chase said, breaking the silence. "So fever and delirium points to--"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"How long have you been in here?" Wilson asked Cuddy later that night in House's ICU room.

"I just got here," she smoothly lied. She'd been in there for at least half an hour.

Wilson nodded, obviously knowing she had lied but allowed the subject to drop. "Did Weston call?" he asked instead.

"Yeah, but just to tell me everything is cleared up. Ethan's pleading guilty and with all the evidence they have, he's pretty much guaranteed one or two decades in prison. I don't have to testify unless I want to."

"Will you?"

"I don't know. Don't really feel like it. I'll figure it out when the time comes. At this point in time I'm just handling everything as it comes to me."

Wilson didn't say anything, but she looked so exhausted, it hurt him to look at her for too long. She had dark circles around her eyes and it looked like she hadn't had a decent night of sleep for days. He was about to excuse himself and head home when the monitors connected to House began beeping.

Cuddy was immediately dragged out of her trance and she quickly jumped up from the chair to see what had happened.

"Everything's normal…BP, pulse, O2 sats…nothing's elevated--"

"Sh…look," Wilson stopped, nodding at House. Cuddy looked and almost instantly, her stomach did somersaults. She smiled as House's eyelids twitched ever so slightly and slowly cracked open. His baby blue eyes had to have been the most beautiful thing she had seen for days. Wilson observed her, noticing the color return to her face. She was smiling. She hadn't cracked a smile for days now.

"Hey, House…"

House looked at her, then Wilson, then back at Cuddy before his eyes rolled a little. He blinked twice lazily.

"House, I need you to blink once if you can hear me."

He didn't do anything for a moment, but the breath Cuddy had been holding was released when he slowly closed his eyes and opened them again.

"House you're in the hospital, don't try and talk you're connected to a ventilator. Just rest."

For a moment, House's eyes remained opened. Then he slowly closed them, exhausted.

"Told you he'd be fine," Wilson said, smiling to himself. House and Cuddy might never admit it, but what they felt for each other was definitely more than the annoying banter they threw at each other day after day revealed. If this entire event didn't prove it he didn't know what would. "I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Wilson," Cuddy said not taking her eyes off House, her hand on his good arm.

"Goodnight. Oh, and Cuddy." When she looked his way he smirked a little and said, "Go home and get some sleep. You know you need it."

"I will."

Cuddy did get some sleep. But not where Wilson was hoping. She fell asleep curled up in the chair next to House, her hand around his. For the first time in days, she slept peacefully.

**Hmm…does the last part kind of remind you of the episode in season 4 titled "Wilson's Heart" where Cuddy falls asleep in House's room holding his hand? Coincidence? I think not! So I technically don't own that last paragraph either.**

**A short chapter, compared to the others but I hope it's okay for now.**

**So, that was my first non-cliffhanger-ish ending in a while. You like? You don't like? Well….REVIEW!!! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!!! :)**


	7. Chapter 7: Leave Me Alone

**Okay, so I just watched the episode "Known Unknowns" a couple hours ago. It aired last night but I recorded it. All I can say is...**

**FRUSTRATION!!!!!!!!!!! I'm a huddy fan so those of you who watched it understand my aggravation. I'm not mad, but I'm just…ughhh!!! But I have faith in the writers – they know what they're doing. Don't want to ruin the episode if you haven't seen it so I'm going to shut up now. On to the story:**

Chapter 7

When House opened his eyes, the glaring ICU lights blinded him almost instantly and he was forced to close them again. So he was alive. That was always a plus. He had woken up a few times earlier, but he couldn't remember that – he had been too out of it. Now, he very slowly opened his eyes as he tried to keep everything straight in his mind. Judging by the ridiculously bright lights he was at a hospital, probably PPTH. ICU no doubt. Yeah, yeah but before that. Okay, so he knew where he was. How did he get there? What had happened first?

Cuddy.

She was the first thing that came to mind and he started to panic. Was she okay? He had been shot, he remembered that much. Twice. But as soon as he was shot the second time, everything was blurry. Cuddy was there, he remembered. She was screaming. Was she hurt?

His eyes flickered around the room until he laid them on Cuddy sleeping next to him. She was curled up on the chair, her arm creating a makeshift pillow. He would've let out a sigh of relief had there not been an annoying tube down his throat.

House rolled his eyes a little. He was groggy, due to the morphine he was on. He couldn't see from where he was how much they were giving him but he could _definitely_ get used to this. All the cuts and bruises, on the other hand…that was _definitely_ going to hurt once he was off the morphine.

And he _really_ wanted that tube out…He managed to wiggle his good arm away from Cuddy's hand and tried to move his fingers. They were stiff and just doing that seemed to wring so much energy out of him.

He didn't want to wake Cuddy. It looked like she needed the rest. He'd tough it out for a few minutes. Too bad a few minutes came, well a few minutes early. Almost immediately, he started choking. He gently laid his hand on Cuddy's and squeezed. The monitors started beeping as well and Cuddy nearly jumped out of her skin.

_Okay…you can wake up now…can't breathe here…_ House thought to himself, his eyes half opened – it was too tiring to open them any wider.

Cuddy quickly ripped off the tape. "Alright, House. Cough."

House obeyed, mostly because he had no choice. Cuddy checked the monitors as she pulled out the tube.

"Looks like you can breathe on your own which is always an added bonus."

House rolled his half opened eyes and tried to say something but immediately began coughing. Cuddy checked his pupil response after the coughing fit. "You're not coughing up blood so that's good…" Cuddy added. She held her finger in front of House over to his far left and began to slowly move her finger over. Instead of following the finger from left to right, House eyes went from right to left in his effort to annoy Cuddy.

"Seriously, House," she said, smiling a little. He was trying to tick her off – his brain was okay.

When Cuddy was finished she leaned on the bed rest. "Well looks like everything's fine for now. How are you feeling?"

_High…_House thought. He was about to say so but then realized she'd probably lower his morphine if he said that. He'd keep that a secret for now. "How…long have…I been out?" he whispered weakly, working his vocal chords for the first time in a few days.

"Two days," Cuddy sighed. "And you've been more than out: you've been _comatose_ for two days," she stressed. "Two gunshot wounds, God knows how many stitches _and_ intracranial pressure. You scared the hell out of us, House."

"Hmm…" House muttered, closing his eyes. He wanted to sleep again. He was so tired.

"House?" she asked, a hint of worry in her voice. She touched his shoulder.

House groaned. "What? I'm awake, aren't I?" His voice was coming back. Open mouth, make some noise…yeah, he was getting the hang of it again.

"How're you feeling?"

"High…" he said accidentally, his eyes closing again smiling to himself childishly. Oh, the joys of morphine.

"What?"

His eyes shot open. Damn, had he said that out loud? "Oops…I mean…tired…" Stupid morphine. But it felt so _good_. Cuddy rolled her eyes and reached out toward the monitors to lower the dose.

"Noooo…" House moaned. He turned his head to see what she was doing when he noticed his mangled left arm – the one Ethan had cut twenty times. For each cut, there had to be ten stitches that held the skin together. Two hundred damn stitches in his arm. House stared at them; hardly able to believe all the threads that decorated his arm were meant to _help_ him.

Cuddy noticed him staring at the stitches. Disbelief clouded his blue eyes and she watched him slowly bring his fingers closer together to form a fist. Halfway through the motion, he stopped, flinching a little. His fingers hadn't even touched his palm. Cuddy, realized that was as far he could go without it hurting, despite the morphine. Her heart ached to see him in such pain. She noticed his other hand reach over to scrutinize touch the stitches but before he could, Cuddy, quickly smacked his good hand away, making sure she didn't hurt him. "Hey, don't play with your stitches."

"It looks like Frankenstein pieced it together," House said mostly to himself, ignoring her. _Is this my arm?_ _Damn, wonder what the rest of me looks like…_

"House, I'm sorry…"

"For hiring such a lousy doctor that can't stitch to save his life?" House deflected, hoping she'd take the hint. He just woke up, for crying out loud. He wasn't exactly in the mood for a good old chit-chat about near death experiences and the complications that always seemed to follow. "Oh, don't feel bad…whoever did my stitches isn't the only bad doctor. Why, look at Wilson."

Not much luck. "Can you please be serious?"

"Oh, well, since you said 'please'…" House said, still scrutinizing his arm. It was so ugly – like some piece of lifeless matter that wasn't meant to be on a living person.

"I'm sorry for--"

"Stop apologizing," House said finally looking at her, frustrated. "None of this had anything to do with you, did it? It wasn't your fault. Well…you did _hire _the stupid doctor that did the stitches so, yeah, I blame you there."

Cuddy was about to say something else when Wilson walked into the room holding a box of donuts. He opened his mouth to tell Cuddy something when he noticed House was awake and sitting up.

"Wilson!" House exclaimed, glaring at Cuddy. "Thank you for saving me from unnecessary explanation."

"You were just deflecting," Cuddy said, folding her arms over her chest.

"I'm just _that_ good."

"He's up! Why didn't you tell me?" Wilson said staring down Cuddy and ignoring House.

"He just woke up three minutes ago!"

"Yeah, I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking. My arm kinda hurts but besides that…" House began cockily. He then nodded at the bag Wilson was holding. "Hey….there better be something good in there for me, my lunch buddy. Just because I've been gone doesn't mean I expect any less from you."

Wilson shrugged. "That's nice to know." He handed him an original glazed donut. He offered Cuddy one but she declined and Wilson took a raspberry filled donut for himself.

"Hey, I want a jelly donut!"

Cuddy wrinkled her nose. "How can you eat? Aren't you nauseous?"

House took a huge bite out of his donut. "Yummy…" he mumbled. He hadn't eaten anything when he had been kidnapped or even had anything to drink. IV drips had been keeping him going but nothing beat physically _eating_ the food. Where was the fun in IV drips?

Cuddy rolled her eyes. He could be such a child. "Right, well now that I know you're fine--"

"Worrying about me?" House said, making a face.

"—_I'm _going to do my work." Cuddy finished ignoring him. She turned to leave the room and at the last moment turned around to take a look at him, obviously about to add something else. She changed her mind and left the room, heading for the elevators. She'd talk to him later when Wilson wasn't there.

Wilson sat down in the chair next to him and dropped the box of donuts on a nearby table. "You know, she's worried about you."

"She's an administrator," House said, finishing his donut. "Worrying about things she can't change is what she does best. I tell her not to worry about the size of her ass but does she listen to me? No. She drinks low fat yogurts instead. I tell her it's her greatest feature and how does she accept the compliment? It's always 'Go away and tell that teenager she's got an STD and deal with the parents'. I feel used."

Wilson ignored the deflection. "She hasn't left this room once in nine hours, she fell asleep right here last night. What happened has been killing her and she's been worried sick. Give her a break."

"She's not worried. She's guilt ridden and I have _no_ idea why. What happened to me isn't her fault and what happened…inside that basement isn't her fault," House hesitated. He didn't really want to bring up _anything_ that had happened in that room. It was obvious he'd been beaten – two hundred stitches on his arm was proof of that. But he wasn't going to be very excited when Cameron walked in here and asked him to talk about his feelings.

"I'm not asking you to talk about it now," Wilson said, making sure he didn't push him too hard. "Just keep in mind she didn't exactly come out of this unscathed either."

House nodded, not really listening to him anymore. Wilson suspected that and brought up a different topic. "Ethan's on his way to prison."

"Well that's just great news, now isn't it?" House said sarcastically, wincing. His chest was hurting, House assumed it was the gunshot wound and did his best to ignore it. He'd up his morphine when no one was looking.

Moments later, Cameron, Chase and Foreman walked in and for the second time in five minutes, House was thankful that another conversation he didn't want to have had been interrupted. What was with everyone and talking about damn emotions?

"How're you feeling?" Chase asked once all three of them were inside. "Cuddy told us you woke up."

"Good God, Cuddy has a big mouth. Bigger than yours even," House said, looking at Wilson. His chest was starting to bug him every time he took a large breath. Then to the rest of the team he said, "Why are you all standing like that? You look like the three musketeers. I'm not going to hit any of you, my dear children: my cane isn't with me today. You have been spared. Worship me."

Cameron ignored the comment. "You look better."

"You have pretty hair," House said dreamily. Then to the rest of the team, he questioned, "So…who's our patient of the week? What body parts can I attempt to cut off? What form of torture can I bring to the human population? Speak up my ducklings."

"None of your business," Wilson answered before Foreman could. "Right now, they're taking care of it. And you're going to rest even if I have to tie you down myself."

House scoffed. About to say something, but it now _really_ hurt to breathe.

_It's just a gunshot wound, damnit. Stop making a big deal out of nothing._

"House?" Wilson asked when House didn't threaten him.

_No, it's in the wrong area. I was shot in the left lung…and it hurts where…_

_Oh, shit_…

"House!" Wilson said, noticing he was completely oblivious to the real world. He quickly stood up as the monitors surround him went haywire. The rest of his team rushed up to him as House mumbled something incoherently and his head fell back into the pillow.

"BP's too high he's going into tachycardia," Foreman noted.

"He's going to have a heart attack…get a crash cart!" Wilson ordered.

House's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was out.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_You can't escape me._

_House is back in the godforsaken basement with Ethan. None of the lights are on and it's dark outside – he can't see anything. _

"_House? House, where are you?"_

_Even in his subconscious he can recognize the voice. It's Cuddy. Cuddy is in the room with the bastard. House tries to feel his way around the room, following her voice._

_Suddenly, the lights flicker on and House sees Ethan, smiling sadistically holding a gun up to Cuddy's head. She's weeping, terrified and trying to pry his fingers away from her. "House!"_

_House runs to her, despite the streams of pain coursing through his entire body radiating from his leg. His leg is on fire but he keeps running. Ethan has the gun still pointed at Cuddy's head. He fires._

_House's heart stops. He's too late. He failed her. She's gone. But he still sees Cuddy there, screaming his name. He's screaming for him to stop. For who to stop? Cuddy's fine, but House isn't. He doubles over and collapses, finally noticing the bullet wound in his chest. The bullet didn't hit Cuddy – it hit him._

_Over and over again, Ethan fires at Cuddy, but each bullet collides into House, meters away, hitting him in different locations – his leg, his abdomen, his shoulder…over and over again until it feels like his entire body is covered in holes. He's bleeding almost everywhere but he's still wide awake, completely conscious._

_And God, does it hurt._

_Ethan lets Cuddy go and she runs over to him, screaming. "Why did you do that? What were you thinking? Why did you do that? You should have just stayed. He wouldn't have hurt you if you stayed."_

_Ethan is above her now and has his gun aimed directly at Cuddy. Every time Ethan has fired at Cuddy the bullet has hit House. Yet, House knows that this last bullet is going to hurt her. He tries to pull her away, to shield her, something. But he can't move anymore. Ethan fires and House knows he let her down when she needed him most._

"_House!"_

"_House!"_

"House."

He woke up in a cold sweat, taking in as much as oxygen as he can through his nose just as his eyes opened. He was back in the ICU room, under the glaring lights. Ethan was in prison. He's not coming back. _He's not coming back_. Cuddy was fine. She was here.

"House, you just had a nightmare," she reassured him.

He was still exhausted though he had just woken up. The last thing he remembered was…his team had walked in to see how he was doing…

"What…" House murmured so quietly, Cuddy had to bend down to hear. That was all he managed to get out.

"You had a heart attack," Cuddy explained. "You were gone for a little less than a minute." He noticed her red eyes.

House closed his eyes and fell back into shallow unconsciousness.

"For the love of God, House," she told him even though he couldn't hear her anymore. "Don't do that to me."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

The next time House woke up, it was dark, and no one was in the room with him. Everyone must have gone home – good. It was about time they stopped worrying about him. He was fine. He didn't need everyone staring him down, making sure he was still sane. He was sick of the attention.

He slowly sat up, trying not to rip out any of his stitches. The room started to dance in front of him and he stayed still, breathing slowly. Once the wave of nausea passed, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and allowed his bare feet to touch the cold ICU floor.

_This should be interesting_, he thought to himself as he grabbed the IV pole and slowly lifted himself from the bed. It wasn't pain he was worried – he had the morphine to take care of that. He was more worried about _getting_ up. He hadn't been up in days and he'd been comatose for two of those days. Time to remind his legs how the whole walking thing worked. Lift this leg…or drag it, either way…okay good…now next leg…repeat…yeah, I remember now.

House walked out of his room dragging the pole with him until he made it inside the restroom. Before he turned to face the mirror, he mentally prepared himself. _Alright. Let's take a look at the damage, shall we?_

Damn. Well, it could be worse…

The sides of his face were purple-blue and he had stitches in the side of his head and on his cheek, a few millimeters away from his zygomatic bone. He stayed away from the stitches but gingerly touched his bruised cheek. As he did, he remembered how Ethan had slammed the end of his handgun into his face. The memory seemed to wake him up a little more and he snatched his hand away, laying a finger on the stitches where Ethan had hit him. His entire face looked like it had been a punchbag, which wasn't entirely far from the truth.

He lifted up his deformed arm and inspected it as well. He couldn't form a fist without it hurting and he couldn't stretch his fingers out either. If he twisted his arm around slowly, his arm just fell dull but when he touched the stitches, it felt like he had dropped pepper in it. He remembered Ethan making each slice in his arm – he did it so casually, as if he was dividing up a pizza among friends.

The restroom door slammed open and House woke up from his reflections. He turned around and saw Cuddy standing there with a look that could kill blazing from her eyes. He half expected flame-tipped arrows to fly from her sockets.

"Oooooooohhh," House said, acting like a seventh grader. "You're in the boys' bathroom. Very dramatic, I must say."

"Why are you out of your room?" Cuddy demanded. "You're supposed to be in ICU. _Intensive Care_. There's a reason we put you in there."

"How did you even know I was in here?" House deflected. He'd only been in the bathroom for a minute or so. How close was she keeping tabs on him?

"An intern said he saw you leave and head this way. You do realize there's a bathroom in the ICU room, right?"

"No…there's a _toilet_ in the room. I needed a mirror," he said, pointing at it.

"Go back to your room before your rip out your stitches!" Cuddy said, annoyed that she was still arguing over something so basic. What idiot wandered around after getting shot, sleeping through a coma and having a heart attack? All in less than four days?

"I don't need a babysitter," House muttered, turning to face the mirror. All he wanted was a few minutes alone. Was that too much to ask?

"Yeah, well, your recent stunt seems to prove otherwise. Get back to your room and stay there or I'll handcuff you to the bed myself."

House eyes twinkled. "Will you join me, mistress?"

"ICU. Now."

"No," House said after a beat, looking back at the bruise. He had already seen it and didn't need to scrutinize it any further, but he figured after a moment, she'd leave him to his own thoughts for a while.

"House, I'm not kidding," she said, walking over to him, her heels clacking on the tile floor. When she reached him, she grabbed his arm and pulled on it slightly, just to show him she was serious. He needed to get his ass back inside.

She forgot about the cuts along his arm.

House screamed and immediately Cuddy let go, realizing what she had done. She could see blood immediately rush to the area Cuddy had agitated on the lower part of his forearm and House muffled another scream. He squeezed the IV pole so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

"House…are you okay? Sorry I--"

"Yeah, you forgot," he seethed back, intentionally hurting her. "Totally understandable, considering nothing major happened over the last four days. Coma and all was just a stage production Wilson and I put together. I'm all better."

"Let me--" Cuddy began reaching for his arm.

House moved it away before she did. "Ohhh no…I think you've done enough for one night."

She took his hand trying to see how much damage there was. "At least let me--"

"Let go!" he yelled as he yanked his arm away.

Cuddy was speechless, but she slowly let go. He could see the guilt, hurt and frustration in her eyes as she nodded a little. "Okay," she said and with that she quickly left the bathroom.

House let her go and tried to push her out of his mind. That's what he did best. If he didn't want to handle something or face something, he let it slip out of his mind and occupied it with something else – like a case. But at the moment, the only image stuck in his head was Cuddy's hurt expression before she left.

A few minutes later, House grabbed the pole and began his trek back to his room in ICU.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_He's looking the mirror in his bedroom and notices that he's been, miraculously healed. There are no bruises on his face, not ugly stitches, not even a scratch. House touches his skin, just to make sure it's really him staring back in the mirror._

_Slowly, the picture starts changing. The bruises return, a dark shade of purple; the cuts across his temple and cheeks are there but without the stitches. Blood seeps from the wounds and runs down his face, past his nose until it starts dripping to the floor. His eyes are half opened and he looks exhausted. Gradually, the face in the mirror starts contorting in pain – but it's not a reflection. House's face isn't bleeding, there are no stitches in his head and his cheek isn't tender. Nothing hurts. But the man staring back at him in the mirror obviously thinks it hurts. The man in the mirror is about to crumble into pieces._

"_You know why Cuddy won't fire you. Because this is what she sees. The helpless cripple. She feels sorry for you; she feels guilty."_

_Ethan is also in the mirror behind House. _

"_Your dad hated you…he still hates you and after the infarction, all he saw was his crippled failure. You never did anything right, so he'd punish you, push you. Do you remember when you had to sleep outside in the dead of winter for a night?"_

_Ethan's face also begins to change and at first, House doesn't understand what is wrong with him. His face in morphing, becoming something else._

"_All the meals you missed altogether because you were two minutes late for dinner? Nights you were forced to stay awake and still go to school in order to build character?"_

_Moments before the transformation is complete, the realization dawns on him and House looks at him in horror. No, not something…someone._

"_Do you remember the number of times he pushed you, beat you, dragged you around b y the arm and treated you like a worthless dog?"_

_Ethan grins. But it isn't Ethan anymore._

_It's House's father._

House's eyes jolted open and he quickly took in a deep gulp of air. He checked the clock hanging on the wall – three in the morning. He still had hours of the lingering darkness ahead of him.

He looked side to side and realized no one was in the room with him. He sighed and closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to sleep.

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. Wanna know why? Because reviews make the world go 'round. Everybody knows that. **

**No, seriously review. ;D**


	8. Chapter 8: Sweet Dream

**I decided to try something. It's not a big deal but I'm going to go ahead and explain. Any/most of the time when House and his team are talking about a patient, I'm going to get that patient from one of the episodes that have already aired. This helps me so that I don't mess up any medical facts. The dialogue is different but it's the medicine and patient that's the same. Enjoy!**

**Don't own House.**

Chapter 8

Lisa Cuddy could never have been so out of it.

It had been a little more than a week since House had been kidnapped and she hadn't slept through the night once. She would either sleep for a few hours and wake up to nightmares, or simply not sleep at all. She was scared of getting into bed because sleep wasn't a means of escape anymore – it was additional torture brought by an onslaught of unforgettable memories, threatening to drive her mad. She would wake up from nightmares screaming, crying, or shaking uncontrollably with sweat drenching her face. And the nightmares themselves were so terrifying that when she woke up, she always had the details etched into her mind – they felt so real. The entire event had traumatized her so much though most of the torture lay buried in House's head.

Yet, House seemed perfectly fine. Not only had he been moved out of ICU but he had been the biggest pain in the ass that week which made sense. He was in pain, pissed and wanted to go home. So naturally, he did everything in his power to make everyone else's life a living hell.

Cuddy and Wilson had warned House's team not to give him any information regarding patients. He was supposed to recuperate, not play mind games. However, Cameron, Chase and Foreman all considered their boss slightly more terrifying than their boss's boss. Ironic perhaps, but definitely not unbelievable. So House was happy and Cuddy was ticked off.

Of course, there was always the food issue. House hated hospital food before he was shot and he hated it now. So who else to drag into his misery circle than his living, breathing and walking wallet, Wilson? House was forced to eat breakfast at the hospital but Wilson always brought him lunch and dinner from a nearby fast food restaurant. So House was content.

House was doing fine. So was she so devastated?

Two days before House was due to be discharged, Wilson walked into her office holding up a thick file. "Need you to sign off on a procedure," he started, pulling out the necessary papers. No need to make her read thirty pages of charts. "Fifty two year old male diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer," he continued dropping the heavy file on Cuddy's desk. Cuddy jumped up slightly, her head in her right hand. She yawned.

Wilson chuckled. "Late night?"

"Yeah, you could say that," she replied, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She lifted up one hand to take the file but Wilson purposely held it away from her.

"You need to get some rest. Do you even sleep?"

"I _try_," she mumbled. "Give me the file."

"What do you mean you _try_?"

"Wilson, I really don't have time for this."

"Yeah," he drew out slowly. "You're half asleep. If you're stressed and you just need a few sleeping pills I can always write you a script. You know that, right?"

"I always have this much work."

"And it's never gotten to you like this before," he rationalized.

Cuddy put down her arm and looked up at him, waiting for him to finish in mock politeness.

"It's not still what happened last week, is it?" he asked, knowing quite well that was _exactly_ the problem. What else could it be?

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in over week," she admitted.

"It's over," he reassured her.

"No, I know it's over. But I still can't sleep. I've taken some sleeping pills and I sleep but then I have nightmares. I end up waking up and not being able to sleep for hours. I just don't get it…it had nothing to do with me, I wasn't even involved, and it's still eating me up."

"It's understandable that--"

Cuddy continued to ramble out loud, ignoring him. "House is doing just fine. I feel like…I feel like a pathetic little third grader who lost her mom at Wal-Mart."

"You know this is a bigger deal. And what makes you think House isn't suffering right now?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Oh, just look at him! He's been taking advantage of everyone else's never-ending worry. He's solved two cases supposedly behind our backs and he's been driving all the nurses insane. He drags you up and down New Jersey to find him dinner and whenever I come in, he keeps me there as long as he can _just _so he can question my wardrobe and tell me why the cafeteria cooks need to be fired. He's doing fine and I'm not." She stopped for a moment, trying to catch her breath. "It doesn't make sense."

"You know House is suffering. He just mourns quietly when no one is watching. It's eating him too."

She bit her lower lip and nodded. "Call me naive but for some reason, I feel as if this should be an exception." She looked up at Wilson, her blue-gray eyes masked in confusion and hurt. "He offered his life in exchange for mine. He was going to let Ethan kill him so that I could go. You don't offer your life and expect nothing to happen. _He_ knows that – he's not an idiot. So I don't know why he's being so adamant on leaving it be."

Wilson sighed and finally handed her the papers he was holding. Cuddy took it and began to quickly skim through. When she was finished, she handed it back and Wilson said, "Don't think you're the only one that was affected by this. Don't make that mistake."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

It was seven when Cuddy decided to go home. She needed the time off – and the sleep, even if it was a little early. If someone needed her at the hospital, she'd get a call. She locked her office doors and quickly jumped into an open elevator, deciding to check House's chart before she left. She hadn't seen him all day and Wilson was busy with a patient. No doubt the nurses were casting lots to see who would have to go in there. The least she could do was relieve them of their worry and get the job done herself.

She was expecting House to say something when she walked in and when he didn't, she quickly looked up to see why – he was sleeping.

Cuddy sucked in her lips slightly to keep herself from waking him up. She realized she hadn't seen him sleep ever since he had been in the hospital. She quickly grabbed the file at the end of his bed and skimmed through. He was almost completely weaned off the morphine and he had been taking a different combination of pain medication which was a good sign. She checked his last dose and decided it was due time he received another. She marked it on the chart and began to administer an additional dose.

She dropped the chart when she was finished and scrutinized his face, keeping what Wilson had said in mind. _Don't think you're the only one who was affected by this_.

She had seen House sleep many times – in his office, all the hospital lounges, clinic rooms. And each time she barged into the room to snap him awake she couldn't help but look at him for a moment. He looked so peaceful when he slept, without a care in the world. Completely content and oblivious and, dare she think it…cute. But now, as Cuddy watched him sleep, she could see the wrinkles that formed above his head when he frowned and the thin line his lips created. He looked agitated.

Cuddy sighed a little but turned around to leave, trying not to make too much noise with her heels. When she was step away from the door the monitor beeped once. She quickly spun around and half sprinted towards the monitors to see what the problem was. Erratic heartbeat. She frowned a little but decided to ignore it. Again, a lone beep erupted from the monitor.

_What?_ she wondered to herself. House stirred a little and at first, she thought House was waking up. He muttered something and turned his head to the side. Another beep.

It was a simple sign of agitation or anxiety – he was having a bad dream.

She should have left, that felt like the mature thing to do. You don't _watch_ people experience nightmares. But something kept her feet planted where they were. Curiosity, mostly, but she also saw it as reassurance; that it wasn't only her that was hurt. Immediately, she felt terrible for thinking that. She shouldn't be viewing his nightmares as a _good_ thing.

"Stop..." he muttered, a little louder. It was just a whisper but she could easily make out the word.

_I should wake him up_, the logical side of her brain said. _Wake him up, damnit. Or at least leave._

"Don't…" His heart rate was increasing and the erratic beeps were becoming more frequent.

_What are you doing?_ Cuddy asked herself. _Why are you still here? Are you taking some sort of sadistic pleasure watching him like this? What's wrong with you? Wake him up!_

"I'm sorry, Lisa…"

The sound of her first name sparked her attention and she was immediately snapped out of her internal lecture. Why would he be sorry?

_You shouldn't be here_.

"Don't hurt her."

Cuddy began to leave the room, afraid of what else she might hear and hating herself for staying and doing nothing. She was watching him in pain – it was no different than what Ethan had done. Embarrassed, her face flushed she briskly walked out of the room, but not before hearing House mutter something else.

"Daddy…don't."

The nurses noticed how fast Cuddy was walking out of the room. At that rate, it looked like the Devil was chasing her tail. Quickly and briskly, Cuddy rushed out of the hospital and sought refuge inside her car despite the cold winter chill. She remained there without starting the car, shaken and hopelessly disoriented. House was struggling through this – more than she could ever imagine. She felt like a child for thinking otherwise.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"You haven't talked to him all day," Wilson accused Cuddy almost twenty four hours later.

"Who are you my mother?" Cuddy asked walking past him. She had gone to pick something up in the clinic when she had bumped into Wilson – unfortunately.

"When I said 'him' you knew who I was talking about," he noted.

"Who else could 'he' be?" she quickly rationalized.

"You're being defensive and you're avoiding the subject, which means something happened."

"You've been hanging around House for too long," Cuddy shot back after she found the file she needed. She walked briskly back to her office.

He followed. "What did he do? You saw him for only five minutes yesterday and it didn't look like he said anything...overly offensive."

"Everything he says is overly offensive," Cuddy argued. "And when I saw him he was asleep. So he didn't _say_ anything."

"You watched him sleep?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, hiding the guilt. "I checked his chart before I left to go home."

"Still. Something happened – most likely House related. The question is, what?"

She sighed, breaking. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"I'll just ask him."

"No!"

"Tell me what it is and I won't," he said, standing his ground.

"No, I meant he won't know what you're talking about. You can go ask him if you want but he'll have no idea what you mean. And _I_ do not plan on telling _you_ anything."

Wilson weighed his options. Cuddy wasn't going to tell him anything and House just might have the answer he was looking for – hell, he always had the answer he was looking for. He just wasn't always eager to share. Wilson could always bargain with a free meal, couldn't he? Cover a few of his clinic hours when he was back at work? Pass to the oncology lounge? There were bargaining chips if you wanted something from House - but there was nothing he could offer Cuddy.

He shrugged and made his way over to House's room. He'd find out whatever this was – he'd get his answer one way or another. He had learned the skill from House after all. Sure, he might get his answers in more legal and emotionally-friendly ways but he'd end up succeeding.

House was writing on the glass wall with window chalk.

"House!" Wilson said once he walked in. "What are you doing?"

Foreman, Cameron and Chase were in the room as well. Foreman waved a little from the chair he was sitting in.

"A differential, _obviously_," House answered. "What are _you _doing here so early? It's not yet time for dinner."

"Stop writing on the window!"

"Relax. It's window chalk. It'll come right off."

"Where the hell did you find window chalk?"

House ignored him to the rest of his team, he added "So, we've got fatigue, joint pain and some bacterial vaginosis in his mouth--"

"Could be autoimmune, Sjogren's decreases salivary flow," Cameron interrupted.

"His eye and tear ducts are fine," Chase said quickly.

"W-w-w-what?!" House said annoyed, his eyes widening slightly. "He has _bacterial vaginosis in his mouth_. I haven't even made a joke about it yet! No rude comments about what he could have possibly put in his mouth, nothing about where his mouth has been…"

"Fine, make your comment," Foreman instructed waving his hands to portray surrender.

House rolled his eyes and made a face. "Well, I can't make a comment _now_. They stole my thunder."

Foreman rolled his eyes.

"Get Wilson to biopsy his salivary glands to see if he's got parotid cancer." Then he looked over at Wilson and pretended to be surprised. "Oh my gosh! It's Wilson! That just makes everything easier now doesn't it? Meanwhile, you guys can cover my ass. Cameron does my paperwork, Foreman and Chase finish my clinic hours. Just because I get a break doesn't mean you guys do."

When his team had left the room House sat back down in one of the chairs and dug around a Chinese take-out box for some dinner leftovers. Wilson was staring at the wall that had House's handwriting on it. On a glass see through wall, House had clearly written the words "BACTERIAL VAGINOSIS" underneath the list of symptoms. He chuckled a little to himself, wondering what Cuddy would say.

"Have you spoken to Cuddy?" Wilson asked, hitting the nail on the head. He didn't have to start off with small talk with House.

"Not today. Why?" he asked.

Wilson shrugged. "She seemed pissed off."

"And you naturally assumed I was the cause…" House prompted, expecting more. He wasn't angry Wilson was accusing him. It made sense – you'd have to be an idiot not to automatically accuse him, but there had to be more to the story. Cuddy was pissed at him every day, there had to be something special that would force Wilson to come up here to tell House.

"That's just it. She's pissed, I assume you're the reason, so I want to know what you did."

"Well, that's relatively boring. I haven't seen her all day!"

"What did you say to her yesterday?"

House looked up toward the ceiling, pretending to seriously ponder the question. "Hmm…Come to think of it I didn't see her yesterday. But the day before I think the conversation went something like 'House, stop harassing the nurses' and I said, 'Of course I'll stop harassing them, now that you're here.' And then…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. You were a general bastard."

"I believe the preferred term is 'general pain in the ass'."

"She's acting all weird. And she won't tell me why."

"Here's a thought: wring it out of her."

Wilson frowned, worried by the suggestion. "How?"

"Her guilt complex, Wilson!" House half yelled. "She's a walking container of mixed emotions. She _still_ feels guilty. Make her feel bad for not telling you and she won't even know what to think."

"I can't do that…"

"Sure you can. I do it all the time. One of her greatest weaknesses – my _favorite_ weakness to be precise."

"She's really killing herself over what happened, House. You need to talk to her."

"Funny…I feel like I've had this conversation before…must have left my lines in my other pants."

"_Talk to her_. Or at least try to _not_ make her feel worse. This isn't her fault but that hasn't stopped her. I don't know what exactly went on when you were both in there but she feels like she could have done something different." The last part was a total lie, but there was no way in hell he'd tell House that.

"Oh, I _remember_ what I say now!" House exclaimed looking excited. "This is where I slyly change the subject. So, Wilson, when am I getting discharged?"

Wilson ignored the question. "Talk to her."

"Do you see this ending well? Cuddy and I talking about our feelings?" he asked sarcastically.

Wilson sighed. This was going nowhere. Obviously House had no idea what was up with Cuddy. "You're getting discharged tomorrow."

"You dropping me off at my apartment?" House asked, glad to be talking about something else.

"You shouldn't stay by yourself," Wilson said simply.

"What, afraid I might jump off a balcony?"

"No…I'm more afraid you'll do something a lot stupider. Like rip out your stitches while bending down or drink three bottles of vodka and mess with all your medications."

"I'm not that dumb," House pouted. "Although the second one does sound likely."

"Whatever," Wilson said, about to leave. He hadn't gotten the answer he had been looking for. His work here was done. "I'll drop you off at your home tomorrow night."

"Good…hey! What's for dinner!" House yelled as Wilson left.

But he was already down the hall off to his own office. He had paperwork to finish, a patient meeting in ten minutes…he still had work to do, despite the ongoing drama.

On his way to his office, Cuddy almost bumped into him, holding a cup of coffee. "Did you get your answer?" she asked, quickly recovering.

Wilson hesitated, then quickly answered. "No. What are you doing up here? Checking to see if I knew your little secret?"

She didn't fold. "It's not even a big deal. Stop blowing it out of proportions like a middle schooler."

"If it's not a big deal then why won't you tell me?"

"Because!" she yelled a loudly. A few nurses and doctors looked her way and Cuddy looked down embarrassed. She quietly whispered, "Because it's none of your business."

Wilson shrugged and branched off into the hallway that led to his office.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

It was three o'clock in the morning and House couldn't get back to sleep.

He sighed and turned around once again in his bed. He hadn't been able to sleep for a week – properly, and he was always having some sort of nightmare every time he closed his eyes. Even if all he did was take a five minute nap. And every time, after waking up, he had trouble getting back to sleep. If he was at home, he would have gotten up ages ago. Maybe have a beer or two, play the piano for a while, watch some television. But he was stuck in this stupid room with no cable – he suspected Cuddy had planned it out like that just to get on his nerves – and nothing else to do – not even his gameboy.

And the nightmares…he had so many different ones but he could remember almost all of them as if they had happened just the day before. Sometimes, it was just him and Ethan in a room and Ethan was beating him, cutting him – those were the better dreams. Other times, Cuddy was with him and she was being hurt and House could do nothing about it. And once in a while, his father was _also_ in the room. Those were the most terrifying because nothing particular happened. House was being hurt and his father was doing nothing about it. Always…always…he was simply watching House writhe in pain and each time, he would say the same thing. "Grow a backbone, boy."

At least he'd be going home tomorrow. Then he'd at least have options. This last week had been pure hell – not only because he was so damn bored, which was dangerous enough for everyone who came in contact with him, but because he couldn't sleep due to what had happened the week before.

Any time Wilson brought it up, he'd change the subject. Cameron had tried but she'd been too terrified to carry out her 'let's hold hands and talk about feelings' plan. Chase was chicken, Foreman was boring and Cuddy…Cuddy had been avoiding him.

At first, he thought it was because what had happened in the restroom last week, but she seemed to have ignored the encounter up until the day before – when she had started ignoring him altogether. Was she mad at him? About what? He wouldn't have thought too much about it, but Wilson had asked him about it which got him thinking. Why would Cuddy be avoiding him?

He groaned and closed his eyes. He knew he couldn't continue like this. He was going to have to confront what had happened sooner or later – especially the part when he had offered his life in exchange for Cuddy's wellbeing. He had been banking on 'later' which was quickly becoming 'sooner'.

After he had woken up, he had asked himself multiple times why he did it. The answer he liked to believe was, _Well, what the hell was I supposed to do, watch him rape her?_ But he knew there was more to it, and he forced himself to leave the subject at that. He didn't want to delve into possibilities and underlying meanings. He had no problem doing that to other people's issues but he hated applying his skills to himself.

He checked the clock for the third time in less than five minutes. This was going to be a long night.

**I'm REALLY nervous about the risk I took with the dad sub-plot in his dream but since this chapter's already up I'm going to have to make it work, now aren't I? So I want **_**your **__**opinion**_** when you REVIEW. Do you guys want a dad sub plot or do you want it kept to a minimum? Or are you currently considering jumping into my computer and strangling me for including it? Or should I just surprise you? The possibilities are endless….**

**If you didn't figure it out, the patient was the guy from "Top Secret" – the soldier.**

**REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW…..REVIEW….REVIEW…. k, thanks ;)**


	9. Chapter 9: Many Rivers to Cross

**Hey ma peeps. **

**The reason I haven't updated in SO LONG: AP Biology. That class hates me. One day, you're going to log into FanFiction and say "Hey, where's writingmonkey10?" And AP Biology is going to waltz into your room from your computer and say, "Oh, her? I ate her." I don't understand why it hates me so much. Sigh, but I'm on Thanksgiving Break so hopefully I'll be updating a bunch this week. ;)**

**Don't own House. Enjoy!**

Chapter 9

House woke up to a loud slam of papers. It was Wilson presenting his friends with a pile of discharge papers. Oh, how convenient.

"What…" House moaned angrily. All of a sudden, he snapped his eyes open, realizing that he had woken up – to the slamming papers. No nightmares this time – a first in a week and a few days. Things were looking up.

Wilson waved the papers above him. "Discharge papers. Need your signature in a couple places before Cuddy makes her mark. I'd forge it for you to save you the trouble but I figured you'd gladly sign it yourself. After all, you're directly benefitting."

"Gimme!" House said like a three year old.

Wilson half threw them over and House skimmed to see where his signature was needed. He frowned and pouted. "I thought you said you needed my signature in a _couple_ places?"

"It _is_ only a couple," Wilson argued.

"Yeah, right...you should have just forged it," he complained.

Wilson rolled his eyes. Of course he'd whine. "Yeah, my bad. I'll keep that in mind for next time you land in here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" House asked suddenly.

"What's what supposed to mean?"

"The next time I land in here? Just so you know, I_ don't_ plan on getting kidnapped any time soon."

Wilson was speechless for a moment. House was being defensive…over something he'd been ignoring and at times, casually deflecting. Casually _mocking _even. This was different. "Okay…just sign the papers so you can get out of here in a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours? That's bullshit. I'm an employee; can't you pull a few strings? Don't I get benefits?"

"You not being fired is about as large as a benefit you can possibly receive. And by pull of a few strings you mean do something illegal that could get _me_ fired," he noted.

"Oh, Cuddy wouldn't fire you…but yes, if you could do something illegal that _worked_ I'd be very happy."

"Right," Wilson muttered. "Oh, and you are _not_ going home…to _your_ home, I mean. You can't stay anywhere alone."

"Don't you trust me?" House whined.

"There is no way you can walk three meters without collapsing--"

"I did it before!"

"And you were high on morphine! For the past few days all we did was put you on heavy dose pain medication. And as soon as you're off _those_ you're going to feel the pain. And _then_ you'll do something stupid."

"Will not," House scoffed. "I'm never stupid."

"It's either this, or you're staying here at the hospital, no matter how many times you decide to sign the discharge papers. And I _won't_ be bringing you dinner."

House's eyes widened, pretending to be horrified – especially at the last sentence. Sarcasm put aside, House realized he was going to have to choose one or the other. There was no talking his way out of this. After a few seconds of contemplation he sighed. "Fine, as long as you're fridge is stocked with pizza and beer."

Wilson smirked a little, "Who said you were staying at my place?"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"You said WHAT?" Cuddy half screamed. Wilson was standing in front of her desk in her office with that stupid, smug smile on his face. She wanted to slap it right off.

"Don't yell at me!"

"Oh, like hell, I'm going to do more than yell. I'm going to--"

"It's a good idea!" he quickly interrupted, not entirely eager to hear the rest of her threat. "You can both deal with what happened this way. Instead of running around in circles and getting nowhere."

"Wilson, are you insane? Did you even _think_ about what you were saying when you said it? Scratch that, did you even _think_? I never knew House was coming over to my place so I have nothing ready, he's going to make my life hell, steal my tampons and hoard my bras…you know how to deal with that, not me."

"I don't have bras. Or tampons come to think of it…"

"You know what I mean! _You_ know how to deal with him! Not me."

"So do you," Wilson argued back. "_You_ hired him."

"I know how to handle him at work. Not when I'm stuck under the same roof for weeks on end. I'm going to kill myself…no, I'm going to kill _you_ first." She threw her arms up in the air, giving up. "Forget it. He is _not_ staying with me."

"He's not staying with me," Wilson replied firmly.

"What exactly did he say when you told him I _voluntarily wanted to take him in_?"

"I have no idea…I quickly walked out of the room without even glancing at his expression. Kinda wish I did now…"

"He's not staying with me," Cuddy repeated.

"You _know_ it's a good idea. You were the one saying that he needs to take what happened seriously and that it doesn't' seem like it even affected him."

"Well, I was wrong," she half muttered, remembering her discovery a few nights ago.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed causing Cuddy to stop arguing. "That's exactly what I mean! You know he's suffering and you think it's best for him to stay at home by himself?"

"I never said that," Cuddy said, raising a finger, as if pointing to the statement. "I said he should stay with _you_."

"All this week and part of last, you two have been dodging the issue. If you brought it up, he'd bring it back down. You got nowhere. You've been trying to pretend it never happened. The problem is, it _did_ happen, and you're both going to have to deal with it eventually. This forces you two to _talk_ about what happened, like grown up human beings."

"Do you see this ending well, Wilson? House and I talking about our feelings?"

Wilson said nothing for a moment but laughed a little. That was the exact same thing House had said just the day before.

"What?"

He nodded a little and started backing out of the room. "He's staying with _you_ or he's stuck staying here. Either way, he's all yours."

She was about to protest again but Wilson was already out the door. She groaned and collapsed into her seat behind her desk, trying to focus on the work ahead of her. Lying right on top of the pile of work were House's discharge papers. All they needed were her signature. It was either the hospital or her place. Thanks a lot, Wilson.

A small part of her, okay, a _huge_ part of her knew that this was a good idea and what Wilson said made sense. If she wanted to talk to him, this was the way to do it – he had no escape. Sure, it probably wouldn't be five minutes before they started ripping out each other's throats, but eventually they'd make it to the talking stage.

She picked up the papers, pen in hand. Suddenly the task seemed a lot more formidable than it had five minutes ago. Sighing, she signed the papers, imagining all the ways she could make Wilson's life hell for making her do this.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Wilson was right…once they took him off the magic drugs, it hurt a lot more.

House could concentrate, he could function no problem. He just had to get used to the idea of chronic pain again. A week-long break had been nice; now all he needed to do was get used to the idea. _It hurts and it doesn't go away…how could you forget? _ In a feeble attempt to take his mind off it, he was in Coma Guy's room, watching some TV. Since he had no cable, he'd been making it a habit to stop by every now and then. Besides, Coma Guy probably missed him.

He heard the door slide open and looked over from where he was.

"Had a feeling you'd be in here," Cuddy said leaning on the door.

He let his head roll back and moaned. "Mommy….can I have some of the good drugs now?"

"Not unless you plan on staying here for the next couple weeks…which brings me to the reason I'm here."

Before House could say anything she quickly had her say. "First, I did _not_ tell Wilson I wanted to take you in so don't flatter yourself." At this statement, House grinned, for some crazy, psychotic reason, pleased and apparently amused. Cuddy ignored the look and continued. "Second, you are sleeping downstairs--"

House scoffed. "It's not like I can get _upstairs_."

"—_away_ from my bedroom. You will not _enter_ my bedroom or my bathroom and you will _stay away_ from my closets and drawers."

"Aren't the closets and drawers _in_ the bedroom?" he verified.

"You got it?" Cuddy responded, not ready to play games. It was bad enough that she had to do this.

"So many restrictions…how do you expect me to have any fun?"

"I expect you to get better without you taking my underwear."

"You know…last time I was at your house for that one case, your stairs didn't stop me," he said grinning. "And you know quite well that they won't stop me now. And yet you're still taking me in…"

She knew this was coming, and had the perfect reply. "Works for me…you can park your butt here with Mr. Stevenson for the next couple weeks."

"Who's Mr. Stevenson?"

She waved her hands in the general direction of the sleeping man in the bed.

He rolled his eyes and pretended to whisper something to the comatose patient. "Some dean of medicine. She doesn't even know your real name…"

"You can have lunch with your coma friend for the next couple weeks, or you can stay at my place. Take your pick."

House pursed his lip in mock consideration. "As long as you don't cook any of that nasty tofu and expect me to eat it. At least coma guy doesn't care about what I stick down my throat."

Cuddy nodded. "And I'd like to keep this new arrangement quiet, if you don't mind." _Which he obviously will,_ Cuddy told herself.

House grinned, verifying her speculation. "Oh, I do mind."

"Seriously, House."

"Relax, because it's you, I'll keep it quiet," he answered partially sarcastically. Partially being the operative word; a part of the statement actually sounded sincere and Cuddy had no idea how to respond.

"O-kay…" she said mostly to herself and quietly left the room. As soon as she was gone, House quickly massaged the gaping hole in his thigh. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons – to move back to his room, or not? His leg was killing him which made moving anywhere last on his to-do list, but his arm was hurting too and it would take him forever just to change into a pair of pants…speaking of which, he was going to have to tell Wilson to bring up a pair. He groaned and grabbed the still attached IV pole, dreading the trek down the hall.

So he was moving in with Cuddy. Wilson had said she had volunteered but House had known that was an obvious lie. He could tell just by looking at that stupid grin on his face. If _Cuddy_ had suggested it, all House would hear from Wilson was "You'd better not eat her by next week" or "Give her a break, she's hurting too" or "Don't look through her diary." Blah, blah, blah.

Under any other circumstance, he probably would've already set up booby traps or thrown out all her underwear. But things were…complicated. And House hated complicated, especially when it had something to do with him. He was going to have to talk about what he did, why he did it, what had happened before they had found him. He'd have to open up doors in his head he wanted to keep locked up forever, doors that hadn't been opened as of last week, and some even years before.

He didn't think he was quite ready for that.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

It was ten thirty at night and Cuddy was honestly surprised House hadn't dragged his butt downstairs to bribe, goad, or torture her out. Wilson had already left two hours ago and now, after finishing a mountain of paperwork, she was on her way out too. She grabbed her coat and purse and made her way to the elevators.

Meanwhile, House was in his room, struggling to put on his damn shirt. Wilson had brought over a pair of jeans and a shirt and House had decided to start with the jeans, deciding he'd rather be seen struggling to put on a shirt as opposed to a pair of pants. So far, he wasn't having very much luck. He couldn't lift up his arm above his head without it hurting and he didn't want to irritate his stitches too much. And as if that wasn't bad, he still had to put on a jacket. It was freezing outside.

Oh…and shoes. Damn it.

After two minutes of getting nowhere, he forcefully pulled the shirt over his head and straightened, ignoring the bursts of pain across his arm and chest. Once finished, he stayed seated on the chair and closed his eyes, rolling his head back. Nothing to do but wait for the pain to subside.

Moments after he closed his eyes, he heard the door slide open and the annoying squeak of wheels. He opened one eye, suspiciously, knowing it was Cuddy and a wheelchair. Just by looking at her face, he could tell she was pissed that he hadn't put on shoes or a jacket.

"House, what are you doing?!"

"You," he answered. "If you're referring to what's going on in my head."

"You haven't even put on your shoes!"

"You know, I'm flattered that I still have the ability to surprise you."

"It's past ten, you've had hours to--"

"Mommy, stop yelling at me!" House pouted, pretending to cry.

Cuddy sighed and sat down in another chair across the room. "Just hurry up. I'm tired."

House opened his eyes and turned to look at her, somewhat surprised. "You're going to watch me get dressed?"

She didn't reply but grabbed a nearby magazine, trying to ignore him.

House continued, knowing she was listening anyway. "Well, if you had told me that before I wouldn't have been wearing _anything_ when you walked in here."

"I don't have time for this. I'm tired."

"So you said."

"Hurry up!" she half yelled slamming down the magazine. It wasn't really anything for her to get mad about. On the usual scale of severity, House not putting on his jacket was definitely a minor issue.

And of course, he knew that. He smiled a little, waggling her finger at her. "You, Lisa Cuddy, are mad at me."

"Of course I'm mad. I'm tired, I've had a crappy day and--"

"I would say you've had crappy _days_…you've been mad at me for the past two or so days now. I haven't even had the opportunity to get on your nerves yet. Well, to the best of my ability."

"I haven't even been in your room for two days."

"Which is how I know you're mad at me. And I haven't done anything all that dramatic recently. So you have no _rational_ reason for being mad at me…"

"Just get dressed."

"So you're either pregnant," House continued.

"I am not--"

"_Or…_someone has pissed you off. And I'm usually the first candidate."

Cuddy sat back and folded her arms across her chest as she sat back, waiting for him to finish. She might as well, he'd continue anyway. When he said nothing, she started, "And if you're not the reason I'm pissed off?"

He shrugged. "That would make everything _that_ much more interesting."

"So either way I'm enabling your endless curiosity."

House nodded once, pleased. "I love how that works. Don't you?"

"Just put on your jacket."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the hospital cane next to him. Then he expertly extended it, allowing the end to pick up his jacket. Once he had dropped it on his lap, he repeated the same procedure with each of his sneakers. He stuffed his feet inside, not bothering to tie the laces. He wouldn't have been able to bend down that low anyway thanks to the pain in his side and chest.

Now for the exciting part. He managed to drape his jacket over half his shoulder but was having trouble getting one arm through the sleeve and keeping the jacket up at the same time. Damn arm…it was just as useless as the leg. If he cut off both he'd look like an oddly shaped half-person.

House didn't even realize Cuddy had left her seat to hold up the coat, allowing him to slip his arm through. Then she carefully held up his upper arm close to the crook of his elbow, touching his bare skin. The contact was quick and almost instantly covered by his sleeve, but Cuddy found herself holding her breath and trying not to look at the ghastly stitches as she helped him. When she did glance at him, she could tell he really was trying to get his arm through, as if it was the most difficult task in the world. A jacket. He couldn't even put on his damn jacket. The thought made her want to cry.

_It's temporary. As soon as the stitches are out and he's recovered completely, he'll be fine._

_He's House. He has to be fine._

When he had his jacket on, she stepped back, giving him room to stand up and walked over to the wheelchair. House only raised up his left leg and moved his foot around. "My shoes, Mommy...tie my shoes."

Cuddy smiled slightly and brought the chair closer, ignoring him. "You're going to be sitting in here so it doesn't matter if your shoes are tied."

"It's funny how you think I'm going to actually sit in that thing."

"Come on, House. Let's go."

He grabbed his cane and stood up and made a face at Cuddy and half hobbled towards the door. She could each step was painful; hell, getting out of the seat was painful. It was why he had used his cane to bring everything closer before he started putting it on rather than sit on the bed to get dressed. Moving was too much of a hassle.

After he had taken a few steps toward the door Cuddy moved the wheelchair behind him and tugged at his good arm – the one holding the cane. He stumbled a little but landed in the wheelchair with a loud sigh and show of rolling his eyes.

"You're mean," was his only reply.

"Of course I am," she replied half-heartedly as she led him to the elevators.

It was honestly a sight to see: House sitting in a wheelchair without plotting a plan of escape and Cuddy wheeling him out; neither of them complaining. Of course, they had already had their fair share of banter in the room but none of the nurses or doctors watching knew that. What they saw was something they had never imagined – it was almost terrifying.

Neither of them noticed the eyes following them as they left the hospital and forced into the cold and biting wind outside. Cuddy silently kicked herself for not parking her car closer.

Getting into the car proved to be another challenge. The wind was enough to make it that much harder for House to get up and when he did, he almost fell over. He managed to catch himself but not before Cuddy reached behind him to steady him for a moment.

"You okay?"

"I got it," he grunted finally lifting himself up completely and sitting down inside the car. She knew he hated the attention and he hated not being able to do simple things by himself, but she couldn't help but worry.

What could she say? She was an administrator; it was what she did best.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"What the hell are we doing here?" House asked, exhausted. They were parked outside his apartment and the last thing he wanted to do was stand up if he didn't need to.

"We need to get you a change of clothes," she replied, undoing her seat belt.

"You get it," he murmured, trying to sleep.

Cuddy half snickered, not really into it. "I am _not_ going through your drawers."

"Sure you can!" he said, smiling. "Unlike you I don't hold on to a bunch of meaningless rules that are going to end up being broken anyway."

"I am not going through your drawers."

House didn't answer. He didn't so much as move even a centimeter, making sure Cuddy understood he wasn't going anywhere.

Cuddy sighed loudly and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. House smirked a little, his eyes still closed. His smirk quickly disappeared when the passenger door opened and the cold air rushed into his face. House opened his eyes, looking up at Cuddy who was glaring down at him. "Get out of the car!"

"No need to get all frustrated." he snarked back. But he swung his legs out of the car, grabbed his cane and stood up, closing the door behind him. It wasn't as windy as it had been a few minutes ago so he didn't have trouble _staying_ on his feet. The two of them walked toward the door and House let them in. As he turned the key, he vividly remembered when he had opened the door almost two weeks ago just to see Ethan holding a gun pointed directly at him. He pushed the memory aside and opened the door.

It was just as he had left it that night. His cane was still lying next to the door where he had dropped it and a different jacket and bottle of Vicodin was still lying on the couch. No one had been in here since that night. House ignored it and collapsed on the couch, exhausted. He had moved around enough for one day.

"House, get up," Cuddy said, sitting on a different chair. "We need to get going."

"No."

"Please…get up…" she groaned, also tired. She just wanted to go home and get in bed.

"Watch me."

_He wouldn't really stay there all night, would he?_ Cuddy thought to herself. Unfortunately, she was sure that was the case. House could sleep standing up if he put his mind to it. After sitting there for a full minute, House opened his eyes and slowly lifted himself from the sofa. Cuddy's eyes brightened for a moment, thinking he was about to get a change of clothes so they could get out of there.

She stayed where she was as House walked into his bedroom. Just before he closed the door, he yelled, "Good night!" and quickly locked it so Cuddy couldn't force him out.

_Seriously?!?_ she thought to herself. She ran up to the door. "House!"

"La la la la la…" House sang in a high pitched voice. "You can't catch me…"

"House get some clothes and _get out_ so I can go home!"

"I don't think you're in the position to give orders."

"I can't believe this," she said, walking away from the door and sitting down on the couch.

"Again, I am extremely flattered I still have the ability to surprise you."

_He'll come out eventually_, she told herself, knowing quite well he wasn't going anywhere. But this was pushing it, even for House. She didn't have anything with her, what did he expect her to do, sleep on the couch all night.

She laughed a little but stood up. Of course that's what he expected and she wasn't about to let him have that satisfaction. She took the keys he had dropped on a table and left his apartment.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

He opened the door a few seconds after he heard Cuddy leave. She'd be back, he knew. All she had done was gone to her place to get something to change into for tomorrow – and probably something to change into for _tonight_. House sighed, he was going to end up missing whatever she was going to wear to bed.

What he wanted most of all, however, was to be alone. Even if it only was for ten or fifteen minutes. He left the hospital cane in his bedroom and grabbed the one that was still on the floor next to the door, trying not to think of Ethan standing over him with a gun in his hand. As soon as he had, he quickly limped over to the piano and immediately began to play, trying to distract himself, despite the slight sting in his arm. Instead, he was replaying the events in his mind subconsciously, remembering. The click of the gun as he was led out of his apartment, the pain he was forced to endure every time he was kicked, punched and beaten.

_You know why Cuddy won't fire you._

He remembered the sickening sound of the knife piercing his side, and the sharp sting as Ethan yanked it back out…

_The helpless cripple. She feels sorry for you; she feels guilty._

…the sting of each of the cuts along his arm…

_Do you want me to end it, House? Do you want me to kill you?_

He was back in the room again. The stench of his own vomit was overpowering, his face was wet and sticky and blood was slowly trickling down.

_Before I pull the trigger, you would have begged for me to do it days ago._

He could see Cuddy weeping over him, trying to save him but knowing it would take a miracle now. He could see the pain he was causing her. A part of him asked himself why she even cared so much.

_Welcome to hell, House_.

House wasn't fingers had long stopped playing and were now limp across the keys. He could hear him. He could hear Ethan, almost as if he was in the room with him, sitting on the couch, playing with the knife in his hand, mocking.

_Welcome to hell, House_.

The memories echoed in his head and retreated back into the darker holes in his mind, waiting to be rediscovered.

**reviews are always welcome.**


	10. Chapter 10: Torn

**Props to **mlover4evr **for that AP Bio skit. It made me really happy ;)**

**Don't own House. Even though I really wish I did because Lucas would NOT be dating Cuddy if I was in charge of the show. Pfft…what makes you think I'm angry? I'm not angry…I'm just voicing my opinion…lol. Enjoy!**

Chapter 10

"This is _not_ going to work," Cuddy yelled into her phone as she drove back to House's apartment. She had gone home and picked out a few outfits for work and something to wear to bed. Currently, she was trying not to run into something due to her anger.

"What makes you say that? Where are you?" Wilson asked.

"He's staying with you. He's going to kill me!"

"No, he won't! Where are you?" he repeated.

"I'm on my way to his place!" she yelled, frustrated. "I just left my home."

"You left him alone?"

"Yes…no…he's only been alone for fifteen minutes and he's not going to _go_ anywhere. I took his keys. We stopped by his place so he'd get something to wear for the next couple days and he ended up locking himself in his room like a three year old."

"And you're the one who's now looking for something to wear for the next couple days," Wilson completed, thinking to himself. "It's brilliant, really."

"Wilson! This is ridiculous. It's like taking care of an annoying third grader."

"Well…you always wanted kids," Wilson suggested.

"I am not doing this."

"He was tired and exhausted and probably wanted to be alone for a while. He wasn't trying to make your life hell. Well, that might have been an added bonus in his point of view but I seriously doubt that inflicting pain was his primary motive this time."

Cuddy was about to argue but her mouth immediately clamped shut as she thought about it. It was such a House thing to do, she felt like an idiot for not realizing it at first. Why was she being so insensitive? She knew House, understood him more than most people, and yet she was assuming the worst. "He could have just said so…" she mumbled.

Wilson scoffed on the other line. "Yeah, that sounds like House. Talking, discussing…"

"Okay, I get it," she interrupted, pulling up in front of House's place. "I have to go. Good night, Wilson."

"Good night. And try not to kill each other."

_Right_, she thought to herself as she hung up and exited the car, carrying her duffel bag with her and let herself inside. The lights were off so she assumed House was sleeping. She was about to drop her stuff quietly on the couch when she noticed there was something already there. She quickly switched the lights on, hoping it wasn't House passed out on his couch.

It was a blanket – two blankets she soon realized – and a pillow along with a single slip of paper. She picked it up and read it, a small smile forming on her lips.

_And you thought I was mean…_

She chuckled and sat down and as she did, she immediately felt guilty. She didn't give him half the credit he deserved. Despite everything that had happened, he had come so far by himself. She was forgetting that this had nothing to do with her and that he still hadn't even talked about what had happened to _him_, and she doubted he would voluntary come out and talk about it. She had to give him time.

She thought back to the night she realized he was having nightmares. It was affecting him, and probably still was, but it went down so much deeper than she thought. She had to give him time, and she had to prove she understood.

She got up to change and noticed that House's door was half opened. She peeked into the room, feeling nosy but pushed the emotion aside. He was sleeping, his back facing her. Slowly, she closed the door completely and got ready for bed.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_He is cutting him again, starting from the crook of his elbow and working his way down – but the increments are shorter and the cuts even longer. House can't see Ethan this time but he knows it's him. There's no one else it could possibly be; no one else that would try so desperately to cause him this much pain._

"_Do you want me to end it, House? Do you want me to kill you?"_

_He remembers this question. He remembers his last answer – it was a mistake. He doesn't remember it hurting this much and he wants it to end – forever._

"_Do you want me to kill you? Tell me."_

_Yes…he whispers, in between grimaces. He's sure this time. It's not worth it, nothing is worth this. He's lived his entire life a prisoner to his pain. He doesn't want more – he doesn't need more._

"_Do you want me to kill you?"_

_It doesn't matter. He's close to his wrist now – in a few moments it will be over._

"_Tell me."_

_Yes! Yes! Let me go…_

_It's over now. He needs to make only one single incision now, and he'll leave, free from the disappointment, free from the pain. His breathing is shallow and it feels like someone has poured alcohol into his wounds. He's given up, and this is the only thing he's holding on to. _

_Ethan makes the cut. It's sharp, quicker than the others and hurts the least. He sighs, knowing that it's finally over. It's over…it's over…_

_But he's going nowhere. He's still the there. He feels the warm blood seeping from his veins, dripping onto the floor and swallowed by the dry earth below. Ethan makes another incision in the same place – he feels the pain but he's going nowhere. _

_House's mouth goes dry as he realizes he hasn't escaped._

_The cuts are made again and again. Ethan is laughing as House absorbs each infliction of pain, realizing that he's been cheated of the one thing he believes he truly wants and deserves. He deserves escape, he's earned the right and yet here he is, still in Ethan's grasp. _

_He's been cheated by death._

House woke up with a hard jolt, taking in a deep breath. He turned quickly, ignoring the pain in his arm and leg, and checked his alarm clock. It's two o'clock in the morning and the third time he's woken up. Frustrated, he slowly pushed the covers off and half-swung, half-fumbled his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his cane. There was no point in staying in bed if all he was going to do was stay up.

On his way to the bathroom, he detoured to the couch to sneak a peek at what Cuddy was wearing. He laughed quietly when he saw she had her blanket wrapped tightly around her up to her neck, as if she suspected he would come over to check. Well, at least she had no problem sleeping, he thought to himself as he opened the bathroom cabinets.

He shoved bottles and containers aside, looking for something that could get him to sleep. He found a bottle of sleeping pills and quickly opened the bottle only to find it empty.

_Damn it_, he muttered and tossed it in the trash nearby. He missed but ignored the bottle and hobbled back out of the bathroom toward the kitchen. He quickly poured himself a glass of scotch and checked the clock again, wondering how many glasses it would take for him to pass out completely. Sure, putting himself into an induced coma wasn't exactly the equivalent to sleep but it was better than no sleep at all. And this way, he'd probably end up too out of it to dream anything worth remembering.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy's internal alarm clock woke her up at seven thirty and for a moment she completely forgot where she was. She took in a deep breath, completely relaxed. Almost instantly, her eyes shot open. This was _definitely_ not her bed.

The events from the night before came rushing back to her and she buried her face back into her pillow and closed her eyes, realizing for the first time that it smelled like him and that, most importantly, she liked it. She smiled into the pillow.

She heard a cupboard close in the kitchen and instantly she sat up. House walked out of the kitchen with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his hand.

"Good morning, Cuddles!" he announced as he limped over and sat down on the piano stool.

"Do you usually get up this early?" she asked, tiredly crossing her legs and pulling up the blanket. _He can get up at seven thirty but he won't get his ass into the hospital until lunch time. Go figure._

"I never _got up_ to begin with," he said taking a huge bite from his sandwich.

Cuddy's eyes squinted trying to understand what his point was. Her eyes widened as she understood. "You were up all night?"

"Thinking of you and what you were wearing under all those warm, warm blankets," he hinted. He took a good look at what she was _really_ wearing and pretended to be annoyed. "And all my pondering definitely was _not_ worth it."

She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that had to be three sizes too big and sweatpants. In all honesty, House thought she looked hot, but he wasn't going to say that. _Why won't I say that?_ he asked himself, a little confused. It was something he'd say and Cuddy definitely wouldn't read into it at all. What made him _not_ say it? Did it mean something? Oh, great…even when Wilson wasn't around he was still stuck in his head.

"So…you were up all _night_?" Cuddy asked, ignoring the statement and snatching House from his internal argument.

House didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and made his way back to the kitchen, finishing the sandwich. Cuddy quickly scrambled from the couch and followed him.

"Were you having a sleeping problem before?" she asked, playing dumb. Back at the hospital, he had no problem sleeping…it was just sleeping well that was the issue. But she wouldn't tell House she knew that. At least, not yet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a white bottle just outside the bathroom door. She picked it up and scowled. Sleeping pills. And it was empty, she realized when she shook the bottle. "How many of these did you take?" she demanded, her blood boiling. She wasn't angry; she was terrified. He emptied a bottle and he still couldn't sleep? Oh, God he hadn't done something stupid, had he?

"I didn't take any," he said without even looking at what she had in her hand.

"House…"

"Have I ever lied to you?" Cuddy's glare told him to cut the crap and House quickly answered. "Don't answer that. The bottle was empty when I got it. Cuddy's shoulders relaxed and she exhaled loudly, grateful.

What Cuddy found in the kitchen, however, was slightly more terrifying. Two empty glasses and a bottle of Scotch. What were the odds?

"How much did you have last night?" she asked.

"Not enough," he said smirking devilishly and reaching for one of the glasses and the bottle of Scotch. Cuddy quickly took the bottle before he could reach it.

"Well, that's hardly fair," House muttered, acting upset.

"House, if you can't sleep, you can tell me."

"You're right," House said dropping the glass and surprising Cuddy. "I can't sleep…I need a friend in bed with me to help me sleep. Looks like you're next in line."

"I can write you a script for some sleeping pills," she told him, not even cracking a smile. She was worried. House didn't answer but reached out towards the top drawers to get the jelly for another sandwich. Cuddy couldn't help but stare at the stitches along his arm and anger instantly welled up inside her. She wanted to kill the man who did this to him.

"Stop staring at it," House said when he found the jelly, not even looking at her.

"I…"

"What can I say? Blue stitches really make my eyes pop. It's very dramatic."

She smiled a little but put the bottle of Scotch down, for some reason sure he wasn't going to take anymore – at least for a while. "House, are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine," he answered looking around for the bread.

It was a simple answer. Too simple and straightforward; there was no mocking, no jest, no "Get your administrative-need-to-fix-everything head out of my kitchen". That one word told her everything – that he was _not_ fine; far from it.

She went over to his refrigerator and bent down to see what he had. There was nothing in there that she would voluntarily choose to put into her mouth.

"Stop staring at it," she said without looking at House, stealing his words. She could practically feel House's eyes trying to see through her pants.

"What do you usually eat?" she asked, getting back up. She picked up a carton of orange juice and checked the expiration date before opening it up and looking around for a clean glass.

"Whatever Jimmy is eating, of course! Besides, haven't you ever heard of Chinese take-out…?"

Chinese-take out. It was that damn Chinese-take out that made him open the door in the first place. Maybe if he hadn't ordered he would've been too lazy to answer the door that night. None of this would have happened. Ethan wouldn't have had the chance to take him away from his home, into that basement. Ethan wouldn't have had the chance to put him through all the agony, all the pain. The gunshot, the cuts, the stabbing…

"Are you listening to me?"

He blinked once, Cuddy's voice bringing him back to the present. "Hmm?" he asked, still not really paying attention.

"I was asking if I could drink this…" she said, shaking the juice carton. "Not for permission…I just wanted to make sure something wasn't already living in it." The vacant stare filled his eyes again and Cuddy tried to snap him out of it. "House?"

"What are we talking about?" he asked. The vacant stare was still there, but with an added element: confusion.

"The juice…" she tried to explain. "You okay?"

House frowned a little, apparently not sure if he was fine. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came forth. The confusion in his eyes gave him away and he took a step back, but faltered. Immediately, Cuddy dropped the juice and tried to help him stay on his feet. House tried to catch himself on the kitchen countertop but slipped and fell to the floor.

"House!" Cuddy said, lightly shaking his shoulders. "House, can you hear me?"

House mumbled something incoherently, his eyes half opened. Cuddy placed the ends of her fingers on his neck and tried to open his eyes a just a little more. His pulse was racing and he was showing no signs of awareness. His breathing had accelerated and his arms were moving in some jerked motion, sliding away from him on the wooden floor. His good leg was making the same motion and Cuddy realized he was trying to move. No, not that…he was trying to move _away_ from something. He was somewhere else completely; his mind was entirely unaware of his surroundings, of what was really happening.

"House stay with me…House!" she said looking around for a telephone. She didn't want to leave him for too long, out of fear that he would end up hurting himself, but the longer she left him the more likely he'd end up hurting himself anyway. _Oh, God_…

Cuddy was about to get up and dash for a phone when she noticed the jerks decrease. She stayed where she was holding on to him. His breathing slowed as well as his pulse but he still wasn't completely there; she needed to get him to a bed or the couch – somewhere else.

"Okay…it's okay, you're okay," she quietly reassured him, trying to figure out the best way to get him out of the kitchen. "House, can you hear me?"

House showed no signs of awareness, his gaze was off into space and he wouldn't so much as blink. His mouth was still half open as if he were asleep. Cuddy continued to talk to him, as she hooked her arm under his, hoping he'd come to. "House, I'm just going to take you to the living room…stay with me, okay? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

She had no idea how she was supposed to move him all by herself and she considered calling Wilson for help. All of a sudden, House grunted, gaining awareness and his eyelids twitched as his breathing completely stabilized.

"House, can you stand up?" she asked, not wanting to push him too hard.

He answered by moving his legs toward him and attempting to support himself. Cuddy held on to him as he slowly got to his feet and together, they stumbled toward the couch only a few meters away using the wall as their support. As soon as they reached the living room, she slowly lowered him down on the couch and bent down next to him, trying to get a response. "Do you know where you are? Can you hear me?" House's gaze remained undetermined but his mouth opened and closed, trying to tell her something.

"It's okay, just rest…"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Wilson, it's me," Cuddy spoke into the telephone as she cleaned up the spilled juice in the kitchen. House had come to but was still in a daze. The two of them had managed to make it into his bedroom and he was currently sleeping. Cuddy knew he needed it.

"Well, it's nice to know that at least one of you is still alive," Wilson joked.

"He had a panic attack," Cuddy quickly blurted, scared she would change her mind.

"House? What happened?"

"I was just looking through his fridge for something to eat and he just broke down…like he was trying to get away from something. He looked so desperate and he was completely unaware of what was happening," her heart raced as she explained what had happened, reliving the moment. "I think it was a flashback."

"Where is he now?" Wilson asked, also worried.

"He's sleeping. And that's another thing; he didn't sleep at all last night. I think…I think he had a nightmare."

"What makes you think--"

Cuddy sighed, knowing she'd have to tell the full story sooner or later. "He's been having nightmares since. I found out a couple days ago when I walked into his room to check his chart back at the hospital. The insomnia, the dreams, the panic attacks… Wilson, this is classic PTSD." She whispered the last part, not wanting to believe it herself.

Now it was Wilson's turn to sigh. "You need to talk to him."

"No, no, not yet. Not now, at least."

"Cuddy, either you talk to him or someone else does."

"I'll talk to him when he's ready--"

"You can't do this by yourself, you know that," Wilson insisted, trying to make her see reason. "Last night you didn't even want to have anything to do with him."

"That's not true, I was just frustrated! I would never abandon him if I knew--"

"You can't do this by yourself," he interrupted. "He needs to see someone else. Eventually."

"Do you honestly see him visiting a shrink?" she said as she mopped up the last of the juice.

"_Eventually_. For now he just needs to handle what's going on. And so do you." After a pause, he asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Did he think she wouldn't want to take care of House, make sure he was okay?

"Nothing, calm down. In case you've forgotten you're also in charge of an entire hospital. If this is too much you can leave him with me."

"Me being in charge of a hospital didn't stop you last night when you dumped him on my hands!" As soon as she said it, she silently cursed. Is that what she thought? He was a burden? "Crap…I didn't mean it like that. I want to make sure he gets better. I can do this, Wilson. If I ever need you, I'll call."

"Okay. Promise to call me if either of you need anything."

"A decent amount of groceries would be nice but I can go get that later," she said as she drew her hands over her face. She had only been up for less than an hour and she was already exhausted. "I'm going to be here today so make sure anything I had planned gets cancelled...including the meeting with the donor at noon."

"Alright, I'll talk to you later."

"Thanks, Wilson."

"Sure."

**It's shorter than the last chapter but I don't think it's too bad. REVIEW PLEASE! **


	11. Chapter 11: Sober

**Crossing my fingers, hoping you'll like this chapter. Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House. **

Chapter 11

Cuddy was at home, filling up a suitcase with enough clothes for the next week or so. She knew she'd probably end up staying at House's apartment for the next couple days, just to make sure he was really fine. The two of them were going back to the hospital tomorrow; House was getting all the stitches in arm out. The ones in his chest had already been removed before he left the hospital.

She thought about stopping by a grocery store but she didn't want to leave him for too long in case he woke up. She had already been out of the house for over two hours, talking to Wilson and getting everything in order for her stay. Of course, it shouldn't have taken that long – she was just so distracted. She was stuck, hoping she was doing the right thing, that this would all end well, that House would reach one hundred percent. Hoping she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her life. Cuddy was sure she could handle this, but what if she was wrong?

No, she couldn't be wrong. If she was wrong, House would only get worse. And she couldn't let that happen.

She'd _never_ let that happen.

She stood up and grabbed her duffel bag on her way out the door and checked her watch. When she had left the apartment, it was three and House was still sleeping. Now it was five fifteen. It was time to go; wallowing in worry wasn't going to get her anywhere.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

When she walked into the apartment, she quickly glanced towards House's bedroom and noticed that the door was open. "House?" she called out, locking the door behind her and dropping her bags beside it. "You awake?"

She heard something crash to the floor in the kitchen and she quickly ran to go figure out what it was. It was a glass that must have been teetering off the edge of the table. It had shattered into a million pieces and it didn't look like House had even noticed. Of course he hadn't; he was downing a glass of…well, Cuddy had no idea what the hell he was drinking now but whatever it was he was swallowing it as fast as he could, probably thinking Cuddy would yank the glass away from him.

"House!" she exclaimed, ready to do just that. "What do you think you're doing?"

He didn't answer. He continued to chug, moving away from Cuddy's outstretched arms. He didn't have to try very hard since he was a good head taller. When he finished it, he slammed the empty glass on the table, pleased, and grinned. "What does it look like?" he said, questioning Cuddy's earlier question.

"Oh, don't even…" she began. She noticed him reach for the almost empty bottle of alcohol but quickly ran over to the other side of the table and grabbed it before he could.

"Hey!"

"No! How much have you had?"

He smiled again, bending down and picking up another full bottle of alcohol. "Not enough," he slurred, opening the bottle. She rolled her eyes. He could barely stand up but he had no problem popping the cap.

"How much have you had?" she yelled.

"Before you leff-fft? Or after?"

"You were sleeping, how did you--"

"I have some yummy goodies in my room that I didn't tell you about…" he said slowly, still grinning like an idiot. He poured himself another drink, spilling some of it all over the table. Before Cuddy could grab it, he quickly held the glass up to his lips.

"In the middle of the goddamn day?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, in the middle of the goddamn day…I'm trying to sleep…" he said after taking a couple gulps.

"You're going to kill yourself if you don't slow down…" She grabbed the bottle and put it out of his reach. "Oh, for the love of God, House, drop it!" she yelled, referring to the glass still in his hand.

Of course, the last thing he did was listen to her. Still drinking, he limped toward the couch and stumbled/collapsed on top of it. Cuddy held on to him to keep him from slipping down to the floor and sat down next to him.

As soon as he sat down, he was about to get back up to get another drink now that the glass was empty.

"I don't think so," Cuddy said, keeping him down. Any other day, he would've stood back up anyway, easily overpowering her; but he was so drunk, Cuddy's little tug was enough to keep him tumbling back on the couch.

"He won't let me sleep," he complained still trying to get up, and failing each time.

"Who?" Cuddy asked, surprised at the turn of conversation.

"He keeps coming…ba-ack…" he grimaced, trying to remember the word. "And he won't let me slip."

"Sleep?" Cuddy corrected.

"I said that first…he won't let me slip…" he groaned. The alcohol was starting to catch up with him. "And he takes you too…"

"House…"

"You hate me? He sa--aid you only keep me around because of my --"

"That's not true," Cuddy interrupted, making him look at her. She knew what he was about to say. "You _know_ that's not true."

"You're lyyyyyying…" he said, drawing out the last word.

"No, you know that's not true…" she told him, saying it firmly so he would understand. He couldn't really believe that, could he?

"In the room…" his eyes were opened and pained as he remembered. "He made it hurt…he said you--"

She quickly covered his mouth with her hand. She didn't want to hear anymore – not like this. He was drunk and his defenses were down so low. Too low, she now realized. When he got drunk, he still knew when to shut up, he recognized the invisible lines he shouldn't cross, the crazy thoughts whirled up inside his head were always kept private. He wasn't like Wilson – get drunk and completely lose all sense of self-control. House could recognize the boundaries even when he was out of it. And now he was ready to tell her everything that had happened, what had been scaring him and worrying him, things he never would have told her if he was sober. And if he spoke up, the one time he was so drunk and had lost all sense of his boundaries and Cuddy listened without stopping him, he'd never forgive her. Cuddy couldn't break his trust like that; she needed him to trust her and she needed to trust him equally. When he was ready, he'd talk.

"Don't," she whispered, his mouth still covered. "Don't tell me now."

House closed his eyes and slumped in his seat, his head resting on Cuddy's shoulder. She took her hand away and watched him finally slip into unconsciousness. She was going to have to bring a bucket over soon - judging from how much she'd had to drink he wouldn't stay asleep for long. She sighed and rubbed her eyes but quickly pulled her hands back, noticing they were wet. She had been crying.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

When House woke up, he had a headache the size of Kilimanjaro.

At first, he didn't move, trying to gather as much information as he needed without making his head hurt even more. He was in his room, lights off, door shut. The last thing he remembered…puking his brains out into the toilet. Cuddy had given him something for the nausea but whatever it was hadn't helped.

Cuddy.

_Oh, crap_, he thought to himself, sighing. Might as well get this over with. Maybe he'd blame it on the scotch…yeah, right, like that would work.

Reluctantly, House opened his eyes again, trying to find his bearings. Knowing Cuddy, she had probably decided to stay for the day instead of gone to the hospital to make sure it was in one piece. He groaned and slowly lifted himself from the bed and tried to grab his cane. Instead, he grabbed at the air and again, he fumbled around for it. It was probably somewhere in the living room or the bathroom. He limped towards the door and found his cane propped against the wall.

_Why would she put it there where I can't reach it from the bed?_ he asked himself, annoyed. He grabbed it, and opened the door, the light shining into his eyes, intensifying his headache. But Cuddy wasn't in the kitchen or the living room. He made his way over the bathroom which was empty and immediately grabbed his toothbrush. He could taste a terrible mixture of vomit and alcohol in the back of his mouth which threatened another gag reflex. A few minutes later, he grabbed his cane again and opened the bathroom door.

There was some shuffling in the kitchen and he saw Cuddy unpacking a bag of groceries, her back toward him. He quietly limped over to the couch and lay down, placing his cane next to him. Cuddy didn't even notice.

When Cuddy had put up the last bag, she shut the fridge and walked over to the couch, not realizing House was already there. She yelped and jumped back when she noticed the figure on the couch, not yet completely connecting the dots. As soon as she noticed, she sighed and covered her face with her hand. She was tired and jittery and he was not helping.

House scowled at the yelp, the high pitched noise making the headache worse. His eyes were closed.

Cuddy sat down on a different chair and rested her head in her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell."

"Headache?"

He nodded once slowly.

"Any pain?"

"What part of 'like hell' don't you understand?"

"There's some ibuprofen on the table if you want it," she said, ignoring his touchiness. She wasn't angry; she expected him to be touchy and irritated. That's what made them understand each other so well; they each knew how the other would react and didn't expect anything to change that.

He opened his eyes and glanced at the table in front of him where the ibuprofen was. "I'll live," he muttered, too lazy to reach out and take it. House neglecting pain meds. That was a first.

"Do you still feel nauseous?"

"Not too much."

"Good," she answered. "Because I filled up that empty appliance you like to call a refrigerator so when you're hungry I'll make something edible."

He groaned and massaged his temple. "What time is it?"

"A little past eight…at night," she specified. His sense of time was probably all over the chart.

"What the hell?" he mumbled, wondering where all the hours of the day went.

"You had a busy day," Cuddy suggested, yawning.

"So did you, apparently," he said, noticing the yawn.

Cuddy just looked at him, giving nothing away.

House closed his eyes again and sighed. "What happened?"

"Before you started drinking, or after?"

"Let's go with after," he said sarcastically, mostly because he remembered what happened before. It had taken him a while but he had connected the dots before his latest binge.

She closed her eyes, not knowing where to begin. "You were asleep so I went out to my house to find something to wear for the next couple days. I came back after a couple hours…and you were wasted."

_Shit_, House thought to himself. He couldn't have said much – he was an expert on shutting up when he was drunk but she didn't sound so happy. It couldn't have ended well.

Cuddy continued, "You…told me that you couldn't sleep. And that you were having nightmares." She completed, hoping she had chosen the right combination of words.

After a short pause, House prompted, "And?" There had to be more, she wouldn't be so hesitant if there wasn't.

"And what? That's all you said."

House shook his head, ignoring the headache and looked over at her. "That isn't it. I said something else, something that's making you hesitate."

"You were going to. But I didn't let you."

He was trying to read through her expression to find what she was hiding. He couldn't.

Cuddy tried to explain, "You were drunk, House. You _were_ going to tell me something else, I just told you to shut up."

House's blue eyes flashed for a moment. He was completely surprised and was trying to piece it all together. "Why would you do that?" He sat up completely and pointed at her, "I would've thought that _you_…and Wilson would do anything to get anti-social, oh-so-private Greg House to open up and talk about his feelings and what happened in that dark, scary basement. And me drunk is the perfect opportunity to instigate such a discussion so, once again, the question is why would you shut me up? You _want_ me to talk about it--"

She shook her head. "Not like that. House, I _know_ you. If I had let you talk and just sat back and listened, you would hate me. When you want to talk, you'll do it…but you'll be sober. It will be entirely your decision. I'm not going to take advantage like that just for the sake of discussion."

House was quiet. He had nothing to say to that. He knew Cuddy never wanted to change him, fix him, but she still wanted him to be _healthy_. There was a difference. But she had withheld her curiosity to give him the privacy he worked so hard to maintain. He was vulnerable and she hadn't taken advantage. She had proven he could trust her. He leaned back and looked away for a moment. "Thank you," he said quietly, surprise still weighing down on his tongue.

She had done something for him. He could trust her; it was just a matter of proving it to her. She had given him something, and now it was time for him to give back.

"I ordered Chinese that night," he started. "It's the only reason I opened the door to begin with which would explain the panic attack this morning."

"House," Cuddy interrupted. "You don't have to tell me just because of what I said. You know that, right?"

He nodded once, without looking at her. "Yeah."

She remained quiet. He bounced his cane on the floor a few times before continuing. "His plan…was to drive me insane. He told me that he was going to eventually kill me. But until then, he would have his fun until I begged him to finish it. Said he wanted to see me suffer."

He refused to look at Cuddy. For a moment, House regretted starting in the first place. It was hard, but he continued anyway. "He beat me, kicked me, stabbed me…he strangled me and asked me if I wanted him to kill me. I said no. Later, he…started to cut my arm and before he got to my wrist he asked me if I wanted him to kill me. I said no…"

He looked up and stared off into space. "You have no idea…how hard it was to say no. He was going to kill me anyway and I didn't think you'd even make it in time. I pissed you off the day before so you probably thought I was sleeping in and avoiding work, wouldn't even suspect I was missing for a few days. What he was doing to me hurt like hell and I wanted to tell him yes so it would be over. But I didn't.

"He was going to rape you," he said plainly. "He was going to take you and make me watch, and then kill me. But I knew he didn't care about you or what he did to you. He just wanted to get to _me_. He'd easily leave you if he could have me – so I offered an exchange. I told him to kill me. And he almost did."

For the first time, he looked at her, scared about what he would see in her eyes. Scared he would see guilt and pity. But he didn't see either of those. She saw regret, aggravation, anger, grief, tears even but not pity, especially not pity, and for that he was thankful.

"Why did you say yes?" she whispered. "When he wanted to kill you before you said no but when he asked you the last time, you told him yes. Why would tell him that?"

For a moment, House couldn't believe his ears. Was he really asking her this? "Did you think I'd let him do that to you? I wasn't going to let him when I knew there was something I could do to stop it. If all I had to do was give up my life, it's not much of an exchange. My life isn't--"

"Yes, it is!" she said, leaving her seat and sitting next to him on the couch. "Yes, your life is important you can't possibly believe that your life is worth less than mine. Whatever he said that made you think that you're meaningless to me…you can't really believe that. That your life is an _exchange_? It isn't, House."

He sat up straight to look at her, his face only inches away from hers and was completely honest. "I know. But it doesn't mean I wouldn't give it up again."

"I'm sorry, House," Cuddy whispered. They were so close now, she could feel his hot breath on her lips but she couldn't make herself separate the distance. "I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner. I'm sorry we didn't reach you in time."

"But you did," he answered, and he closed the space between them.

His lips were soft and inviting. She opened her mouth giving him unlimited access, and he took it, exploring the inner workings of her mouth, tasting her, learning her. She did the same and she reached up to caress his face, her fingers weaving through his hair; his rough stubble tickling her chin. His hands were wrapped protectively around her back and she felt safe in his arms. Their kiss was slow, lingering…

And interrupted by her damn cell phone. They both jumped a little and reluctantly parted a few centimeters, breathing heavily; their breath still on each other's faces.

"I…should…" Cuddy mumbled, not wanting to go anywhere.

"Yeah…" he agreed, not wanting her to go anywhere either.

Her phone rang again. "Damn it," she muttered as she left the couch. House chuckled at her reluctance.

She checked caller ID and groaned before answering. It was Wilson. "What?" she snapped.

"Hi, look, I know it's kind of late but that donor is pissed off that his meeting was cancelled. He left but he decided to come back over eight hours later and he wants you to find time to have that meeting tomorrow."

"I can't!"

"I told him that but…what...yeah, but…" Wilson was still on the phone with her but talking to someone, most likely the donor. Cuddy felt like jumping into the phone and strangling the man…what was his name, anyway?

"He wants to talk to you," Wilson sighed.

"Just give him the damn phone," Cuddy seethed, ready rip someone's head off. House chuckled to himself as he heard Cuddy angrily argue with the donor.

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Fifteen minutes later, Cuddy switched off her phone and threw it in her purse. She changed into pajama bottoms and a tank top and grabbed her blanket. Quietly, she snuck into House's room to check up on him. Again, his back was facing her so she dragged her feet to the other side of the bed. She smiled when she saw House sleeping soundly.

"Good night, House," she whispered before leaving.

**PLEASE REVIEW GUYSSSS!!!!! THANK YOU!!! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! DID YOU LIKE IT? DID YOU, DID YOU, DID YOU?!? **


	12. Chapter 12: In Repair

**Hmm…so I originally planned out (in my mind) that the donor would have a role in the story, at least for a while. Then I realized I didn't want to deal with the donor. So, I would like to use this opportunity to tell **huddyholic **that I lied – turns out the donor in the end of the last chapter really was a random character. Oops. **

**Hope you enjoy it anyway!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House.**

Chapter 12

"House!" Cuddy yelled for the sixth time that morning. "Get your ass out of the bed!!"

"Make me!" he yelled back from the bedroom.

She rolled her eyes and marched into his room shaking his shoulder like he was a rag doll. "Now! I have work to do and _you_ are getting your stitches out. Unless you want to look like a part of Frankenstein's monster attached itself to you, GET UP!" She stormed out of the room again, rolling her eyes. And to think she thought the morning would be awkward.

She still didn't know what to make of the kiss. She had gone straight to bed and tried not to think, not wanting to deal with any of the emotions. Now she was forced to make sense of them. Still, she pushed the thoughts aside, not wanting to think so hard just yet.

House finally limped out of the room towards the bathroom. "Don't I get a reward for finally waking up?"

"Get in the bathroom," she said, pointing towards it, making sure he knew she was not playing around with him.

"That's cold….even for you."

"Get in the bathroom," she repeated and she shut the door behind him. "And hurry up!" she yelled.

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"I didn't even get breakfast," House pouted as he got into the car. "No eggs, no orange juice, no cherry flavored lips sucking my tongue…"

_I do not wear cherry flavored lipstick_, she thought to herself. "Don't go there," she said aloud as if what he was talking about wasn't important. She had purposely rushed him out of the apartment so that they wouldn't have to talk about it. Avoiding confrontation…that's what she got for hanging around House for too long.

"I'm surprised."

"Why?" she asked, her curiosity spiking.

"I was sure _you'd_ be the one to bring it up first."

She didn't say anything at first, knowing what he said was true. "It…it's not a big deal…"

House scoffed but looked excited at the same time. "Well, in that case…"

"I _mean_…you're reading too far into it. _We're_ reading too far into it. We were both…emotional, you were vulnerable…so it doesn't mean anything."

"Right…" he said slowly, smirking. The truth was, he hadn't bothered to take it seriously himself. They had both been emotional, were sitting inches away from each other and happened to be of the opposite sex. It was entirely the situation's fault…but that didn't mean he hadn't enjoyed it. They had one twisted and somewhat psychotic relationship but they were still friends; that much they knew but would probably never admit. Would he like to see her naked? Sure. But that didn't mean anything, who wouldn't want to see her naked?

He thought about it for a moment. He had kissed a friend, admitted (to himself) that he wouldn't mind seeing her naked and was convinced there was nothing more to it. _In what world does that make sense? You _do_ have feelings for her…you just don't want to go through the trouble dissecting them_.

Yes, that was true. Serious relationships had some strange tendency to…well, not work out. Relationships that didn't last led to hate and awkwardness which you could handle if you didn't work with the person. If that person happened to be your _boss_ then you just reached a new level of awkwardness.

_Since when did her being your boss bug you_?

_Why am I having this discussion with myself? There's nothing to discuss_.

"Are you listening to me?" Cuddy asked.

House decided to improvise. "Yes! I brought a condom…but you're driving so if you want to pull over…"

"I was saying…" she continued, ignoring the outburst. "That you better keep all of this to yourself…or I swear to God I will put you on triple clinic duty for the next six months."

"But I thought I got a break…" he pouted.

"Oh, your break can go up my…"

"I'd love to see that," he interrupted.

"House!"

He shrugged, acting innocent. "What?"

"Seriously…I don't need all of my staff getting their suspicions up."

"Oh, they'll always be suspicious…mostly because of that one rumor I started…"

"Don't want to hear it."

"I think you'd like it," he goaded. "It's a good story. Very believable…well, everyone believed it except for Brenda. She's such a kill joy."

"I'm serious, House," she tried to explain, knowing there was no point. He never took anything seriously.

"The only reason you'd want me to shut up so badly is because last night _meant_ something…because you won't be able to hide it behind your cunning, deceiving facial expression if someone asks you about it or even suggests it. You never care if I spread rumors about what you wear to bed or your favorite sex position because you don't care. For you to want me to be quiet means you can't hide that you liked it…"

Cuddy laughed. "I assure you, House, I do not _like_ you."

"Your lips say no now…but they seemed _extremely _friendly last night."

"Do _you_ like me, House?"

It was what she had asked him the night before the kidnapping, right before Don had left her house; and the words stung her as they rolled off her tongue. As for House, well, the question caught him off guard for a moment. He honestly hadn't expected the question though it was bound to follow eventually. And naturally, he deflected. "I like your _fun_ _parts_ very, very, much."

She raised an eyebrow as she drove, pulling into the hospital parking lot. "I don't like you."

"Who cares?" he said, though he did. "The point is, you _liked_ it."

"I did not…" she said, feeling her cheeks redden.

"You're in denial…" he sang accusingly.

"I am not…"

"See?"

She parked in her spot and dropped her hands in her lap. "You're having fun, analyzing this to the point of annoyance."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you didn't feel anything."

Cuddy lifted up her head and looked straight into his baby blue eyes about a foot away from her. Instantly, she knew if she said it, it would be a lie. _But a lie is going to have to work…for now_. "I did not feel anything," she stated bluntly, enunciating each word.

For a split second, she wondered how she could be so cruel. She was supposed to be helping him _heal_, and here she was making out with him one minute and denying it meant anything the next. She didn't have time to complete her thought. His warm lips were on hers again in an instant and she felt her eyes close as she tasted him for the second time. It was familiar territory now, and she liked it.

All too soon, his lips left hers and she was left, wondering what had just happened. For about two seconds, House looked her in the eyes. "Liar," he whispered in his gruff, seductive voice and he opened the passenger door and stepped out of the car before Cuddy had a chance to say something.

"Hey, Wilson!" House yelled spotting his friend walking through the front entrance. When he turned around, House continued with, "Guess what I just did!"

He quickly caught up with his friend while Cuddy fumbled around for her purse in the car, her cheeks red.

"Good morning to you too," Wilson replied. "You look good."

"I _always_ look good."

"So…what did you just do? You practically jumped out of the car."

"How hard is she trying to keep a straight face?" House asked without turning around. Wilson exhaled through pursed lips and shrugged. "I'd say an 8."

House smirked triumphantly. "I am sooo good…" and with that he walked into the hospital alone, leaving Wilson wondering what the hell had happened.

Again, Wilson turned around and raised an eyebrow questioningly at Cuddy. "What was that all about?" he asked once she had caught up.

Immediately, Cuddy knew he hadn't told him anything. He was keeping his end of the bargain and driving her nuts at the same time. Strangely enough, she could trust him when it counted. "Nothing," she told Wilson. "He's just being House." But she walked into her office, smiling slightly and ready to tackle the mountain of work ahead of her.

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"So let me get this straight," House began talking to his team. They were in House's office and Wilson was sitting down removing House's stitches. "We have a six year old who had a stroke, heart attack, has started her period and you didn't think I'd be interested?"

"We called but you didn't pick up." Chase said, trying to defend himself.

"You're all idiots."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Because we couldn't get to you or because we still don't have the answer?" Cameron asked.

"Both...but mostly because you think the excess hormone is caused by the TV dinners the dad's shoving down the kid's throat. The brother's not sick and they eat the same food, don't they?"

"A tumor's more likely, a pituitary adenoma would cause all her symptoms," Foreman suggested.

"We shouldn't be discussing," Cameron said, feeling uneasy glancing at the closed door.

"Cuddy's poring over the piles of paperwork she's been missing out on. Besides, if all else fails we'll blame Wilson. Always worked for me. Now stop worrying and start participating."

"If the tumor's not in her brain it'll be in her reproductive tract," Chase continued.

"How _do_ we even know the kid's not sick?" House thought to himself aloud.

"The kid _is _sick," Foreman said slowly.

"Not _that_ kid…the kid's brother…how do we know he's not sick? The major symptom is high hormone levels – how do we know he doesn't have that? Did you _idiots_ test him yet?"

All three of them were silent for a moment and House continued, "Go MRI the kid's--"

"Which kid?"

"The girl!" House said, exasperated. "Chase and Homy, go MRI her brain and reproductive tract and Cameron, test the brother for high testostero--"

Before he could finish, the door opened abruptly and Cuddy walked in, looking a bit shocked at the crowd.

House recovered quickly. He looked at his fellows pretending to tell an elaborate story. "And _that's_ why you should never eat a bulldog medium-rare."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and left immediately without saying a word.

"Wonder what she wanted," Wilson muttered.

When none of the fellows moved, House asked, "Well? What are you people still doing here?"

The ducklings quickly left the room leaving Wilson alone, snipping at House's arms.

"I hope you're not slowly killing our boss," Wilson said once they had left, eyeing his friend. "I need the job."

"You act like you don't know me…"

"House…" Wilson started, ready to jump into a lecture.

"Yeah, well, she's not dead yet. I've kept her alive for this long. I make no promises for the future, though."

"And whatever stunt you tried to pull off half an hour ago caught her off guard," he eyed House who pretended to look innocent.

"What makes you think it was me? All I did was make out with her last night."

Wilson stopped what he was doing, leaving a piece of thread dangling from House's arm. "What?"

"Yup," House said looking pleased. "And I made out with her in the car…And if you think _that's_ bad…"

"Seriously?!?!"

"No, you idiot. I've been driving that woman insane ever since she picked me up from the ICU room. Which one sounds more like me?" House wasn't smiling but had more of a 'you-are-so-much-dumber-than-I-thought" look in his eyes. Very convincing.

Wilson tried to read his friend's expression but House was a master. Hesitantly, he began cutting his stitches again. "Both of those sound like you."

"What's that supposed to mean? My MO is to make her life hell and if you ask me, I do a pretty damn good job. Causing misery to the world, one hospital administrator at a time."

"Your MO is to make her life hell because you _like_ her. She's a friend, whether or not you want to admit it. And because you're a stubborn child, you'll express your friendship by making her want to kill herself. I should know, you're successful with me. Your tongue never makes it in my mouth but you _cannot_ tell me you haven't even considered making out with her."

"You'd have to gay to not consider making out with her. Even gay people would consider it."

"And _that_ is your twisted way of complementing her good looks. But you…you've gone further. You've also considered something else…perhaps even, contemplated a relationship."

"With an administrator?" House asked, sounding appalled. "Administrators are like animals."

Wilson rolled his eyes, knowing there was no point in talking sense in the man. He took out another piece of thread and glanced at House's seemingly glazed expression. "You did do it, didn't you?"

"Have sex with her? Not yet."

"You _kissed _her," he accused.

House was uneasy and looked somewhere else, shrugging.

"Oh my GOD!"

"No, I didn't!" House exclaimed, having too much fun. "You've got issues."

"But you like her…you did it, didn't you?"

"You're making my 'let's mess with Wilson's mind' session no fun," House announced as Wilson cut off the last thread. "Took you long enough," House complained as he experimentally clenched his fist.

Wilson looked at him for a moment before asking, "So have you been talking about what happened? A couple weeks ago?"

"Wow. _That_ was a sudden change of topic."

"Have you?"

"She talks, I deflect…it's the circle of life."

Wilson could tell House was lying. "Seriously."

House shrugged and he stood up and grabbed his cane, making his way to the door, Wilson on his heels. "We talked, I told her what happened. The end, I'm all better."

"Are you?"

"I'm _fine_," House insisted walking into the elevator. Wilson walked in with him and House rolled his eyes.

"Don't you have any bald kids to talk to?" House asked.

"I'm _going _to talk to the bald kids. Where are _you _going?"

"The clinic. It's about time I took a nap."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"So, how are you?" Wilson asked, standing just in front of the door in Cuddy's office. So he had lied to House. Big deal.

"I'm fine. _He's_ fine," she stressed, slowly going through a pile of papers in front of her. "As soon as I'm done with this we'll be out of here…"

"Has he been talking?"

"Whatever he said that has anything to do with my underwear or my anatomy is not true."

Wilson scrutinized her expression but she was too busy flying through her work. Huh…maybe House was just messing with him.

"Yes, I figured that much. But I _actually_ want to know if he's been talking."

Cuddy sighed, finally dropping her stuff and looking up at him. "We talked. He's opening up, Wilson. He's talking about it…for real. No deflections, no changing the subject to what I wear to bed…"

"That's good."

"He got drunk."

Wilson blinked and stuttered for a moment. "Umm…okay…would you care to explain?"

"I went out and came home and he was…ridiculously drunk in the middle of the day. Started telling me that he was having nightmares, that…Ethan" – she hated saying his name, even now – "was showing up in his nightmares. He was going to tell me more but I wouldn't let him."

"Why not?" Wilson asked, although he was sure he knew the answer.

"Because he was drunk. It was the only reason he told me. And if I let him tell me he'd hate me."

"And he eventually spoke up?"

Cuddy nodded. "Later. I told him what happened and he…thanked me – for not letting him finish. Then he went on, and told me everything anyway. He told me what…that man did to him in that basement where he found him. Apparently his psychotic idea was to torture House until he begged for death."

"Oh, God…" Wilson said, the entire kidnapping taking on a new light.

"Yeah," Cuddy agreed, trying to suppress the tears threatening to flow. She didn't want to cry again, especially not here. "The guy asked him if House wanted him to kill him and twice House said no. Then when Ethan tried to… take me…House offered his life, knowing that Ethan wasn't really interested in me, it was House he wanted to get to. Ethan shot with the intention to kill but only missed because the cops barged in a moment before."

She massaged her temple and looked up at Wilson who looked like he had just seen a ghost. "We could've lost him, Wilson. For good. And if that's not bad enough, House was convinced he was doing society a favor."

"He said that?"

"No…but it was implied. Said his life wasn't much of an exchange, believed that it was meaningless." _And he said he'd do it again…that he'd give up his life for me if it ever happened again_, she thought.

"And this was all…last night?" Wilson asked. The two of them had walked into the hospital looking like they wanted to rip out each other's heads. The change seemed too dramatic to be true.

"Yeah," Cuddy said, standing up and picking up a file. "I know when we walked in here, it probably looked more like he broke into my bank account the night before but, he's talking. We're both fine, and he's getting better. That's it."

Wilson nodded. "That's…good then," he said, for the first time not knowing what else to say. No advice, no "I told you so". "You're doing great with him," he said instead.

"There's something else that's bugging you," Cuddy said. She could tell just by looking at him. "You're thinking about something else."

"I just…wonder why he didn't come to me," he admitted. "I know, it's not even my business, he doesn't need to and it's kind of selfish but--"

"You're his friend, Wilson. He knows that. He'll talk to you. Besides, _you're_ the one who decided to lock both of us in the same apartment."

He smiled and shrugged. "Where are you going?" he asked, realizing that Cuddy was on her way out of the office.

"House wants to do something stupid to his patient because he wants to go home. I have to go tell him that's not going to work."

Wilson laughed. It was amazing to watch their interaction. "House isn't supposed to be working anyway."

"I know, but apparently the puzzle supplied by a six year old girl who has started her period is too hard to resist."

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By eight o'clock that night, Cuddy and House were back at his apartment. She had caught up on all her paperwork so she was happy and House had figured out what was wrong with his patient so _he _was happy. Now she was curled up on a chair, reading a book and House was throwing a ball up and down, lying face up on the couch. He was bored and Cuddy knew it. _He's an adult, he'll find something to do_.

House sighed loudly and Cuddy ignored him, continuing to read her book. He sighed again but received no response.

"Mommy!" he yelled extremely loud all of a sudden.

Cuddy jumped, her book almost flying out of her hand. "What?" she yelled aggravated.

"No need to snap."

"What do you want? I'm reading."

"I'm bored."

"You're a grown up, go find something to do."

"Let's play a game," he suggested.

Cuddy laughed. "Yeah, right."

"Well it's not like that book you're reading is interesting."

He was right, it wasn't interesting and her silence was proof. She rolled her eyes and pretended to read.

"See? I say we play a game!"

"No. Way."

"Scaredy cat."

"House, go find something else to do."

He picked up his cane that was lying next to him and used it to reach the book Cuddy was holding. He repeatedly poked at it, making it impossible for her to continue.

"Is this your master plan? Drive me insane until I do what you want?"

"Yes. And it's going to work."

Cuddy stood up and sat in a chair further away from his reach and held the book up in front of her face. Suddenly, she felt a loud _thump_ on the book as it lurched toward her. She put the book down to see what had happened – House had thrown his ball at her.

"Very mature," she replied holding the book back up.

When nothing happened for a second or two, she glanced behind the book and saw House holding a small book and ready to throw.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…okay…we'll play your game," Cuddy said, angry that she gave in. But she wasn't too eager to see how hard House could throw that book.

He grinned. "I'll even make it interesting. You win, you can get me to do anything and if I win, I get whatever I want."

"Hell, no. We're going to play your stupid game and then I can get back to what I was reading."

"If I win," House continued, ignoring her. "I get your panties."

Cuddy's jaw dropped but she quickly recovered. "If you win, I won't beat you with your own cane."

"I want something red…no, scratch that…I want your panties _and_ bra...a _set_."

"Are you insane?"

"Both red…something with lace…"

"No!"

"Or ruffles…"

"You are _not_ getting my underwear!"

"Consider this an alternative to me sneaking through your underwear drawer."

"The only reason you can't do that is because we're at _your_ apartment."

"That's why this can be considered an _alternative_."

Cuddy folded her arms. "What game are you even considering?"

"Does that mean I get your panties if I win?" House asked, excited.

"No! What's the game?"

"I was thinking strip poker…"

"Or regular poker," Cuddy corrected.

"You're no fun. _That's _no fun."

"It'll be a tournament, we just won't play for money. If my stack ends up bigger than yours, I choose the punishment, if you win…you…" she grimaced a little, already regretting what she was about to say. "…you…get my panties…"

House grinned and practically jumped out of his seat, ready to set up the game. "Your panties are all mine!"

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"I demand a rematch!" House exclaimed. He wasn't too angry he had lost – the daring hint of a smile on his lips was proof of that, but he still wanted that lingerie set. Damn…and he had been so close to winning…

"Uh-uh," Cuddy said, moving the poker chips to her side of the table. They weren't playing for money but the action was satisfying – it gave her the opportunity to rub it in his face. "No rematch – we already agreed on that. Thirteen rounds was the magic number."

"Thirteen's supposed to be unlucky."

"For you maybe." She sat back on the chair, satisfied with herself. "Now…for my form of punishment…"

"You've had all this time to think of something," he grumbled.

She looked around the room, hoping to be inspired. "Shut up. I'm thinking. You lost, you don't get to make anymore demands."

"I'm hungry!"

"What do you want on your pizza?"

"A rematch!"

"Forget it! You looost!" she said drawing out the word.

He rolled his eyes but said nothing.

Cuddy continued to look around, wondering what she could get him to do. After a couple seconds, House murmured, "Any day now, Sadist."

By then, she had her answer. "Play me something," she said, standing up and making her way towards the piano.

House remained where he was, half-sitting, half-lying down on the sofa. "That's it? I give you absolute and total control over me and _this_ is your grand idea? No extra clinic duty for the rest of my life, no 'be nice to Cameron even when she acts like an idiot', no making me run laps around the block just for your sheer entertainment?"

"I can choose something a lot more painful if you want so don't push me," Cuddy said, laying her fingers lightly on the keys without making a sound.

To her surprise, House stood up, limped toward the piano and sat down on the bench. Excitedly, Cuddy began listing off the guidelines, checking them off on your fingers. "You have to play for fifteen minutes, you can't play the same song over and over again, and it has to be something I'd like and/or have never heard. Preferably something I've never heard."

"Oh, well you know me…making sure I keep you happy by doing whatever you _prefer_," he snarked, playing a few chords on the piano. He was stalling, thinking about what he was going to play for her. For some reason, he wanted to make sure she _liked_ whatever he chose to play.

"You think, and I'm going to order a pizza," she said, as she left the living room. "And you'd better come up with something good when I get back!" she yelled.

He chuckled to himself, messing with the keys. Should he play this, he asked himself, switching to a tune in B flat…or maybe this, he wondered, raising the third…no, not that…or this? Damn, this was a lot harder than he thought…This was the first time he had played for someone…since Stacy.

All too soon, Cuddy was back. "And don't think you can get out of this," she warned. "Or I'll eat all the pizza myself."

House scoffed. "You would never eat all the pizza yourself." Nevertheless, he launched into the piece he had decided to play. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cuddy watching his fingers every movement as they created the music that filled the room. The song he played was slow, and expressed hope and apprehension. The sound was so pure and – she thought for a moment, before the word finally came to her – it was honest. It seemed like House had almost forgotten she was there. His mind was miles away, in another dimension as he played.

"It's beautiful," she said as she watched him play.

"Mmm…" he mumbled, not really paying attention to her. She caught the hint that he wanted her to shut up but she couldn't help but ask the next question anyway. "What's it called?"

He pursed his lips before answering. "Doesn't have a name yet."

"Why not?"

He laughed a little. "What kind of stupid question is that? Why doesn't it have a name…"

Cuddy shrugged. "It's a valid question. Why doesn't it?"

"Because…I'm making it up."

"Right now?" Cuddy asked, unbelievingly.

"Shut up…I'm trying to concentrate," he chastised. She sucked in her lips, determined to keep quiet. He was making this up right now?

He continued to play for another minute before telling her, "Okay…you can open your mouth now."

"Did you finish?" she asked, confused. It sounded like it was part of the same song though she hadn't heard this part yet.

"Do you think that's wise? Questioning my artistic judgment?" he joked. "Besides, I know where I'm going with it now."

"How did you learn to play?"

House didn't answer for a moment and Cuddy was scared she had brought up a dangerous topic. She let out a sigh of relief when he finally answered. "When I was nine, I went rock climbing when I wasn't supposed to. Ended up falling, broke my ankle in three places and was stuck at home for weeks. When my mom wasn't around she'd drop me off at her friend's place. She had a piano and I caught on. Even after I could get around on my own my mom still took me over to her friend's house so I could play. Eventually, she managed to find enough cash to get a small piano that we put in the corner of the living room." House changed keys slightly and began to play a tune he already knew before continuing. "My dad hated it."

"The piano? Why?" Cuddy asked, hardly believing her ears. Who could hate anything that produced something so beautiful?

"No, he hated _me_ playing the piano. Wanted his kid to go out and play football or go rock climbing like everyone else which is what, ironically, resulted in me learning anyway. He didn't want to have anything to do with it. He hated anything I did that wasn't somehow military-based. I wasn't allowed to play whenever he was at home and I wasn't allowed to mention it when he was around."

"But eventually…he got over that, right?"

"He hated me for playing. He heard me play eventually of course, after my mom refused to speak to him for a week. I tried the same tactic but I was pretty much doing him a favor. I picked up guitar when I was in high school and lacrosse shortly after so he'd get off my back. But he still hated everything I did. After a while, I gave up on trying to make him happy because everything I did was never good enough for him."

"Then he's an idiot," Cuddy concluded angrily. She remembered when both of his parents had come to visit and how hard House had tried to dodge the encounter. For the first time, she understood where he was coming from.

"_I_ was the idiot," House corrected. "Kids are stupid. They chase the person that doesn't want them like a lifeline. I spent a good fifteen years of my life trying to make him like anything I tried to do, and it was a colossal waste of time."

House was quiet for a while after that, but he continued to play and Cuddy watched, welcoming the silence and processing what she had just heard. After a minute, she moved over to House's side and he moved over, giving her room to sit. She took the space and watched his fingers dart across the keys effortlessly.

"Teach me something. I want to try…but not something too hard!" she warned, smiling a little.

House smiled as well. "Whatever you say, _boss_. Put your fingers up like this," he said, placing his fingers on the piano, his middle finger on C. "Alright... like this…" He played part of the tune slowly on a different octave, allowing Cuddy to mimic him on her side of the piano. But every time she played a few notes, she messed up and had to start over to remember where she was.

"How are you supposed to remember it?" she asked, as she started over again.

"It takes time," he said, trying not to laugh. "Let's try…" he started as he slowly slipped his hand underneath hers. His fingers were touching the keys and her fingers were resting on top of his hand. As his fingers pressed down on the keys, Cuddy's dipped down as well but she couldn't suppress the urge to try and press down as well.

"Stop _trying_ to play…it'll come. Close your eyes."

Cuddy was taken aback for a moment, but she obeyed, shutting her eyes tightly. She heard House chuckle lightly. "I'm not going to pull out a bazooka and shoot you down, Cuddy. Relax."

His surprisingly gentle tone calmed her down and she relaxed. Her fingers bobbed up and down on top of House's as he played. His hand was warm and soft underneath hers and she felt safe, just touching them. She could imagine his hands play and her hands on top, playing with him. She was _feeling_ the music.

House left his right hand on top of hers, playing the tune while his other hand began to play another melody, something a little faster but went well with Cuddy's part. Her eyes remained closed, as she inhaled the music. Slowly, his right hand moved further and further away from the keys until he was barely touching them. Cuddy noticed the empty space beneath her but could still feel his fingers touching his hand slightly. It took her a while to realize House's hand wasn't even there anymore – he was using both hands to play something else on the lower end of the piano.

"House, you--" she started when she realized his hand was missing.

"Don't open your eyes yet, you're doing fine. Keep playing and don't think too hard about what's next."

Cuddy tried, she really did, but she panicked and lost where she was, then fumbled for the right notes. Immediately, House's hand was back underneath hers and her anxiety disappeared. After a moment, he once again withdrew his hand. This time, she was ready and with her eyes still closed she continued to play her part almost effortlessly.

"You can open them now," House told her.

Slowly, Cuddy's eyes cracked open and she looked down at her fingers that seemed to be playing on their own accord. She was simply playing the same short tune over and over again but it was music nonetheless. The part House played was more complicated and faster.

"It's a duet?" she asked, daring to speak without messing up.

"Mm-hmm."

"I recognize it."

"_Everyone_ recognizes it, but no one knows what it's called."

"What _is_ it called?" she asked.

"'Heart and Soul'. Hoagy Carmichael wrote the music. Frank Loesser wrote the lyrics."

"It has lyrics?" she asked.

"Yeah. No one knows that either."

House changed up his part a little as they talked, remaining in the same key but adding a little variety so it didn't sound too repetitive. He looked at Cuddy who seemed overwhelmed that she could play anything at all.

"It's not too hard," he told her, referring to playing the piano. "Just don't think too hard. It'll always come to you."

"You know, that night when you interrupted my date with Don, he mentioned that I liked music but it wasn't important to me."

"You like it," House verified. "And it would be important to you if you knew more about it. I can tell. If you had the chance, you'd do more with it."

"Maybe…" she said, continuing to play, she looked up at him and their eyes met. House had the sudden urge to lean forward and kiss her but he suppressed it and looked back down at the piano and continued to play. He didn't want to make anything complicated. He was content to just sit here and play with Cuddy by his side. Why would he mess that up? The second time he looked at her, Cuddy was intently watching her fingers. He smiled and kept playing.

**A little trivia: In Stuart Little, Hugh Laurie actually plays this song with the mom (Mrs. Little or whatever). Didn't actually know that until I went to look up the song to get my facts right. Oh, and if you don't already know it go look up "Heart and Soul" by Hoagy Carmichael. You'll probably recognize it – almost everyone knows it. First legit song I ever learned on the piano back when I was 8! Good times…**

**Hope you liked the XTRA long chapter! :)**


	13. Chapter 13: Secrets

**Kay…so I just found out House isn't coming back on until January 11****th**** – which means no Christmas episode which is going to be SO weird…House always has some sort of Christmas episode. But instead, this year they had that Thanksgiving episode. But it's okay…I know I can make it to January 11****th**** – because that's when 2****nd**** semester of my senior year starts!! HOLLA! ALMOST OUTTA THERE!**

**House isn't mine.**

Chapter 13

House had been sleeping for a little over an hour when Cuddy heard something from his room. His door was closed but she let herself in anyway. He was sleeping but his eyes were shut tightly and his lips formed a subconscious grimace. Every now and then, he'd let out a labored breath.

Cuddy's heart fell. She didn't expect him to have a nightmare, especially tonight. For some reason, she thought he'd sleep better after they had played the piano together. She felt like an idiot and a naïve child for thinking so.

"I won't do it again, Daddy...I promise…"

"House," she said quietly, trying to wake him up.

"I'm sorry…I'll be better…"

"House, wake up…"

"Don't hurt her…"

"House," she repeated, shaking his shoulder. She couldn't stand to see him like this.

His eyes opened quickly and he inhaled quickly as he woke up, disoriented. "Mmmm…"

"You were having a nightmare. You okay?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled as he closed his eyes again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" he yelled angrily, wanting her to leave.

Cuddy didn't say anything for a moment, but she was hurt by his harsh tone of voice. "Okay," she said, trying to hide her feelings.

House groaned. Crap. "Wait," he mumbled.

"Yes?" she asked. She hadn't gone anywhere.

"I'm not mad at you," he admitted, feeling guilty for making her feel like crap. He was _guilty_. He never felt guilty. Huh…maybe the world really was ending. "I'm tired."

Cuddy nodded once, understanding that he was apologizing. "That's fine. Goodnight."

House mumbled something incoherently which seemed to be good enough for her.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy woke up around six thirty the next morning and found House in the kitchen looking through the fridge.

"How long have you been up?" she asked, startling him.

"Couple hours."

"Is the insomnia getting worse?"

"Nope. I just felt like staying up for hours. I'm half vampire."

"I'm going to the hospital for a couple hours later on today. I can write you prescription."

"It won't help," he said, draining a glass of scotch.

"Why not?"

He sat down on the sofa before answering. "Pills aren't going to stop the dreams. Believe me," he waved up his half empty bottle of Vicodin. "I've tried."

"You didn't take many did you?" Cuddy asked, worried.

"Define 'many'."

She ignored the comment, knowing that House wasn't stupid. "Vicodin isn't a sleeping pill. If you need me to bring you anything, you can tell me."

He nodded once and rolled his head back and closed his eyes. "I know."

Cuddy brought out the eggs from the refrigerator, determined to make a _real_ breakfast.

"I lied to you," House said all of a sudden.

She stopped what she was doing and made her way over to where House was sitting. "What do you mean?"

"Last night. When you asked me how I learned how to play the piano." He opened his eyes and stared off into space.

"There was a corner shop down the block and we needed gravy for dinner. My dad told me to run over and get some before they closed. I had ten minutes which was long enough so I ran down, got what I needed, and started running back. I ended up tripping on the way back and broke my toe. I knew he'd give me hell if he found out so I tried to make it back in time and tried to put a splint on it myself in my room. When I came out, he was waiting for me outside my door…with a meter stick."

Cuddy's jaw dropped and she quickly took a seat. _A meter stick_? _He used a damn meter stick on him?_

House continued anyway. "I was late for dinner so I was irresponsible, and I broke my toe because I'm a clumsy ass. That was his reasoning. And he started hitting me with the stick for being both. I backed up towards the end of the stairs but he kept hitting me until I lost my balance and fell down the stairs…and I broke my ankle."

"What did your mom do?" was Cuddy's first question.

"She had gone to buy gravy."

"But he told you…"

"I know," he sighed, lying down on the couch. "Breaking my ankle was supposed to be my punishment, and I went off and learned an instrument because of it. He hated me a lot more after that."

Cuddy said nothing for a few minutes, not sure if she should shatter the silence. What was wrong with House's father? The things he had done to him had long passed the border between discipline and abuse. For years, he had managed to keep the memories in the dark, making it day by day, functioning. But after those nights with Ethan, the memories had resurfaced and seemed to be eating him alive. Damn Ethan…and damn House's father.

"Last night…you had a nightmare. About your father," Cuddy started.

"I know," he interrupted, not wanting to talk about it.

She continued anyway. "You didn't want him to hurt someone."

"Not now."

"House, I'm scared," she told him causing him to look at her. "I'm worried. During the day you're just fine but you barely sleep three hours a night. You're going to burn out. At least let me write you a script so you can finally get some sleep. Please."

"It won't help."

"Can we try it? If it doesn't work we'll try something else."

He noticed that she had said 'we'. Not 'you'. She was promising to stay with him until he had completely recovered. It was more than he could ask for.

"Fine," he agreed, causing Cuddy to expel a sigh of relief. "We'll try it."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

The first thing Cuddy did once she walked into the hospital was make her way to Wilson's office. As soon as she opened the door to his room, Cameron walked up behind her.

"Can we call House, now?" Cameron asked, looking slightly apologetic for interrupting her boss's boss.

"Why couldn't you call him before?" Cuddy asked suspiciously.

"Because you told us not to," she reminded her. "And you could enforce the rule because you've been living at his place for the last couple days."

Cuddy's head whipped around to glare at Wilson.

"Hey, I didn't tell them," he replied in a desperate attempt to protect themselves as he waved his hands in the air, expressing his innocence.

"Look, Foreman, Chase and I are the only ones who know and we won't say anything but we need to call House because Foreman's going to kill the patient."

"Isn't almost killing the patient House's specialty?" Cuddy asked, trying to be professional.

"Yes but Foreman will do anything to prove House wrong and vice versa. Hopefully he'll call Foreman an idiot and come up with something less destructive."

"Go ahead and call him."

Cameron nodded once and quickly left the room and Cuddy closed the door behind her.

"Yes…?" Wilson prompted.

"He's not getting any better," she whined standing next to the glass window in his office. She didn't have to state who she was talking about – Wilson knew.

"Cuddy, he's not going to jump back that fast. You need to give him time."

"I know…but he's still having nightmares. And now it doesn't seem like they have anything to do with Ethan or the kidnapping. His nightmares are just…old memories now that keep taunting him." She closed her eyes and rested her face in her hand and quietly whispered, "I don't know if I can do this."

Wilson dropped what he was doing. "Cuddy…you can't just dump him somewhere. Especially not now."

"I won't. There's no way I can. But I'm scared I'm going to mess something up, or say something wrong that will remind him of something. The day he had the panic attack, all he had done was mention Chinese food. Yesterday, we…he…was playing the piano and it triggered some memory and he ended up having nightmares. I don't know what the next trigger will be and I don't know what I'll do if it's my fault."

"You can see it as a good thing."

Cuddy looked at Wilson in horror. "How can--?"

"If something triggers him and he talks about it, the likeliness of another recurring dream is going to decrease. What type of memories are coming back?"

"His…" Cuddy didn't want to give too much away. Up until this point, she had no problem telling Wilson everything. He was House's best friend for God's sake but she felt like House's childhood was a subject she shouldn't talk too much about. Cuddy sighed and came out with it. "His childhood."

Wilson was speechless for a moment. "Okay. In that case, whatever the memories are, he's kept them bottled up for years. If he talks about them, he's letting them go. It _will_ get better."

"But what if it's not enough? What if it's never enough?"

"Cuddy, it's been a couple weeks. It's going to take _time_. You're acting so surprised that House hasn't jumped up, laughed at you for caring and marched back into the hospital to solve all his puzzles. House isn't invincible. He--" Wilson's phone started ringing. He sighed but picked it up anyway. "Dr. Wilson…oh?...oh! How are you?" His eyes opened a little wider and he sat up in his chair, obviously surprised.

"I'm fine thanks," Wilson continued. "Uh…he's fine…she's fine too…yes, she's right here with me, actually…sure, I'll tell her you called…no problem…bye."

"Who was that?" Cuddy asked immediately.

"That was Detective Weston," Wilson said as he put the phone back in its cradle. "You know…she helped us find House…"

"I remember her," Cuddy said trying to sound brave, but it felt like her heart had stopped. What would Weston want? Had Ethan escaped prison? Already? Was this about the case? In all honesty, Cuddy wanted nothing to do with it.

"She wants to see you," Wilson told her. "She's downstairs waiting for you in your office. She only called me because you weren't there."

Cuddy nodded once. "Okay…I'll get down there."

"Do you want me to come?"

"No, it's okay," she reassured him. "I can handle it."

"Okay."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Dr. Cuddy, how are you?" Detective Weston said as she shook Cuddy's hand. "How's Dr. House?"

"He's fine. We're both doing great." Cuddy sat down in her seat behind her desk and offered Weston a seat as well.

"I'm sure you're busy so I'm just going to get down to business," Weston said and Cuddy inhaled deeply, prepared for the worst. "Ethan's not cooperating."

"I thought he was pleading guilty," Cuddy asked.

"He is, but that doesn't mean he's not making it easy on us. The evidence is solid against him so he there's no escaping incarceration. But the issue is how _long_ he's going to stay there."

"But as you said, you have your evidence. A lot of it – do we really need him to cooperate?"

"If we play our cards right, he could easily get a life sentence."

Cuddy was speechless. Weston continued to explain, "And here's why…Ethan's telling us that this isn't his first kidnapping. He's telling us that there are more victims – most of whom he succeeded in killing."

"Why would he--?"

"Let me finish, Dr. Cuddy," Weston interrupted. "He's willing to give us the names _if_," Here, she hesitated slightly, watching Cuddy's expression. "_If…_he gets three minutes alone with Dr. House."

Cuddy didn't say a word. She couldn't imagine herself allowing House to talk with his own kidnapper – a murderer – alone for three minutes. She thought of all the pain Ethan had caused him, the influx of memories, the nightmares, the attacks. There was no way in hell she'd let that man anywhere near House.

"You're negotiating," Cuddy pointed out. "You're negotiating…with a kidnapper. A murderer."

"Dr. Cuddy, I know this isn't easy and I know it definitely won't be easy for Dr. House. If he doesn't want to do this he doesn't have to. No-one is forcing him."

"Why would Ethan be willing to go to prison forever just to talk to House for _three_ _minutes_? It's not logical."

"Quite frankly, most kidnappers aren't logical. And from what I've noticed when I've talked to him, he doesn't care if he goes to prison. He just wants to talk to House."

"He wants to drive him insane," Cuddy told her. "He wants to kill him."

"If Dr. House decides to do this he'll be perfectly safe. We'll be recording the session, we'll have security all around his door and we'll check Ethan for any weapon before the two of them even enter the same room."

"I don't mean physically kill him," Cuddy said. "I really don't think House can…handle this. Especially now."

"It won't be any time soon and it won't happen if Dr. House isn't ready for it or doesn't want to do it – period." Weston began gathering her things and stood up. "Will you tell House I stopped by and what I said? Or do you want me to call him?"

"I'll talk to him," Cuddy said a little too quickly.

"Alright. Thank you for your time, Dr. Cuddy. Have a good one."

As soon as she had left Cuddy's office, Cuddy grabbed her phone and dialed Wilson's office number. He answered on the second ring.

"Dr. Wilson."

"It's Cuddy, I just talked to Weston – she just left."

"What happened? What did she say?"

"Long story short, Ethan's not cooperating."

"So? It's obvious he's guilty and we've got the evidence to prove it. Why is this even an issue?" he sounded angry now.

"I know, I said that, but let me finish. Apparently, House isn't Ethan's first victim and Ethan is willing to give the cops the names of those people if House agrees to talk to Ethan for three minutes. Alone."

"Talk to House about what?"

"I don't know," Cuddy admitted. "But if this happens, Ethan will stay in prison for life. All Ethan wants to do is talk to House. He probably just wants to push House over the edge or mess with him."

"When does he want to talk to him?"

Cuddy couldn't believe her ears. "Are you even considering this?"

"I don't like it very much, and from what you're telling me House isn't exactly stable right now. The last thing he needs to do is talk to him. But maybe in time…still, it's not your decision."

"What do you mean it's not my decision? I'm involved!"

"No, Cuddy," Wilson said slowly. "That's just it. You're _not_ involved. This is House's decision entirely. When he decides he's ready, he'll go."

"Right," Cuddy said sarcastically.

Wilson sighed. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"Of course I'm not going to tell him."

"Cuddy--"

"House won't listen to me! If I say don't go, he'll go just because I said so."

"You're babying him!" Wilson half yelled. "House may be insane and have no sense of responsibility or consequence – in fact, even that isn't true. He just ignores them. _Still_, House isn't a child!"

"Yes he is! He's a stubborn--"

"Pain in the ass maybe, but not a child. You're babying him. And sooner or later he's going to yell at you and prick you where it hurts so you back off. If there's one thing he doesn't need it's a babysitter. You of all people should know that."

Cuddy frowned though Wilson wasn't there to see her expression. "Wilson, I understand what you're saying but you can't honestly expect me to tell House to go talk to Ethan?"

"He deserves to know," Wilson answered. "You know that. You just want me to agree with you so you don't feel as guilty."

"I assure you, I do _not_ feel guilty," Cuddy said through her teeth, her anger rising.

"You know you shouldn't do this. He needs to know. You can't keep everything from him like he's some nine year old boy! Think…this is House we're talking about. He's going to find out anyway because you walked into the apartment with your left foot first instead of your right or you blinked three times in twenty seconds which means you're lying…or you ate only two slices of pizza today instead of the usual three…he's going to have some crazy clue that _should_ mean nothing, but he'll extrapolate and find something. In this case _the truth_. And then he'll hate you."

"Maybe you're right but I can't just--"

"You told me a couple nights ago House got drunk and was ready to talk but you didn't let him, because you decided you'd wait for him to tell you when he was ready. You waited, and he told you and because of that he trusts you more than he did before – and with House, that's huge. Are you sure you want to take that trust and break it in less than a week? Trust that could take you years to build up again? You've earned his trust, Cuddy. Don't throw it away like that because you're _trying_ to protect him."

Cuddy's silence was proof that he had gotten through to her finally. _Damn it, Wilson_, she thought. _You and your logic…that always ends up making sense…_

"Fine," Cuddy said. "I'll tell him."

Wilson sighed loudly. "I'm not stupid. You're not going to tell him."

"No, not tonight, Wilson," she pleaded. "Not tonight. Maybe in a week, maybe two, but not now, at least."

Wilson was silent for a moment. "Fine. But when he finds out, don't come running to me, expecting me to fix it."

"Fine. Bye, Wilson."

She hung up and sucked in her bottom lip. Was she doing the right thing? She was protecting House – she didn't want to see him hurt, in pain, and she didn't want him to suffer more than he already had. He deserved a break.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Did Cameron call?" Cuddy asked as soon as she had arrived at House's apartment.

House was sitting on the couch eating rocky road ice cream from the tub. He didn't even look up when she walked in. All he said was, "Foreman's an idiot."

Cuddy ignored the statement. "Where did you get that?" she asked, referring to the ice cream in his lap.

"I went to go buy it, Mommy. I have a license, remember? And _this_ one's legal. I even have money…but don't tell Wilson that. I'd lose my lunch privileges."

_I doubt Wilson sees it as a privilege_, Cuddy thought to herself. Instead, she said, "You didn't use your bike did you?"

House turned his head to look at her, the spoon still in his mouth, trying to look innocent. When he noticed Cuddy's eyes flare, he decided now would be a good time to change the subject. He pulled the spoon out of his mouth and said, "Where are my happy drugs?"

"You can't just jump on your motorcycle whenever you feel like it!"

"You know, when I call you 'mommy', I'm being sarcastic. You're not really my mommy."

"House!"

"Cuddy!" he yelled in the same high pitched tone. He stretched out his hand, "You know I'm not going to pay attention so can we just skip this and get on with the good part? Give me some pills, woman!"

She frowned but dug into her purse and threw him the sleeping pills.

House caught them but looked up at her, a questioning look upon his face. "Interesting…"

"What?" Cuddy spat annoyed. She sat down on a different couch, dropping her things by the door.

"No lecture?"

"I just gave you the lecture."

"That's not a _real_ lecture," House said, rolling his eyes as if it was stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "A _real_ lecture has certain guidelines. You have to threaten, designate a punishment, state any consequences I ignored, explain why I shouldn't do it, tell me what a _normal_ person would've done…"

"And you would listen to this?"

"Nope," House said quickly. "But you would've said all that crap any other day anyway. But you didn't…"

"You're bored," Cuddy said, trying to distract him. "Which is why you're inventing a game. If I knew you weren't going to listen to me, why should I bother? It's as simple as that."

"And yet, every time I walk into your office and demand something outrageous that is always right _anyway_ you give me the 'you can't do that without killing someone' lecture complete with a screaming session which is a _huge_ turn on, I must admit. So the question is, what would make you drop a lecture opportunity?"

She sighed, not bothering to say anything. Anything she said would probably be used against her.

He was about to continue his speculation when he shook the bottle of pills Cuddy had given him. He frowned and looked inside. "What the hell is this? Even Wilson gives me more Vicodin."

"Fine, give it back."

"No! Give me _more_! I'm complaining because I have too little, the _obvious_ solution is to give me more goodies."

"Not until you finish these."

He emptied all the pills into his palm and was just about to stuff all of them in his mouth.

"House!" Cuddy screeched about to jump out of her seat and wrestle him.

He grinned. "Gimme more pills!"

"Are you insane?"

"Yes!" he yelled, being loud on purpose.

Cuddy frowned but remained in her seat. She glanced at the tub of ice cream House was holding. "Do you have any more ice cream left?"

"Yup…I'm not even halfway through with it," he said, indicating the ice cream tub he was eating out of.

She rolled her eyes and groaned. "I mean a tub of ice cream that doesn't have your saliva all over it."

"Oh, don't be a hypocrite. You practically ate my saliva for dinner the other night…and yesterday now that I think about it."

"That was all _you_," Cuddy said, pointing at him, trying not to smile. Oh, God, she realized. She was trying not to _smile_. She _wanted_ to smile because she…liked it? She ignored her raging thoughts and continued to make her point. "_You_ instigated the last kiss."

"And you kissed back…which proved my point." He stuffed another spoon of ice cream in his mouth. "You _liked_ it."

Cuddy didn't answer. Instead she got up and grabbed the entire tub of ice cream and the spoon House was still holding and returned back to her seat.

"Hey! Give it back!" House whined.

"Come and get it," she shot back as she dug the spoon into the ice cream. She stuffed a spoonful in her mouth.

"I thought you didn't want my ice cream…"

"I know," she said, taking another bite. "I'm a hypocrite, remember?"

House tried to grab it when she wasn't paying attention but she quickly scooched further away from him, holding the tub of ice cream protectively. "This is good," she said, her mouth full of ice cream.

"Really?" House sighed. "The one time I _actually_ buy my own food, it gets stolen."

"It's karma."

"To hell with karma. Give me my ice cream! I'm a cripple! Where's your soul?"

"I don't have one. One of the perks that comes with being an administrator," Cuddy deadpanned.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

One tub of ice cream and two hours later, Cuddy was ready to collapse on the couch and sleep until the next century. Too bad House was already doing just that. She shoved him a little but he ignored her.

"House…get up…I want to sleep…"

"Move me and I'll throw up all over you," he threatened.

"Come on…I'm tired…"

"We can always share…" he suggested without even opening his eyes.

"The couch?"

"Or the bed if you prefer."

"Shut up and get up."

He grimaced but opened his eyes. "How can you even sleep on this thing?"

"_You_ were just sleeping on it."

"I know but that's me. I can sleep standing up if I take the right amount of Vicodin."

"Thanks for the tip. Get up."

House grabbed his cane and lifted himself up from the sofa. He snatched the blanket from Cuddy's hands before she could get a grip. "Forget it. You're not sleeping here."

"I am not sleeping in your bed," she told him as he walked away.

"Oh, don't get your hopes up, Cuddles!" he joked. "We're going to your place."

Cuddy was slightly surprised. "Oh…?"

"And don't think I'm doing it for you," he corrected as he walked into his bedroom. "If I'm at your place it'll be easier for me to sneak through your underwear drawers."

Cuddy smiled but started packing her things. She knew what he _really_ meant. He was going out of his way to do something for her. _Thanks, House_.

_And how do you repay him_? a small voice in her head said. _You lie to him, keep secrets from him. He'll hate you when he finds out._

She bit her bottom lip. _Shut up!_ She was doing the right thing, she tried to tell herself. She'd tell him eventually, but not now when he had other things to worry about.

**Sucky ending but it's better than no update at all, am I right? REVIEW GUYS!!! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. What do you mean, you don't feel like reviewing? Tut, tut, tut…excuses, excuses…**

**;)**

**no, seriously, peeps…review. =P**


	14. Chapter 14: Misled

**I don't own House.**

Chapter 14

Sleeping in her own bed made a _huge_ difference, Cuddy could tell, even before she did wake up completely. She ignored the voice in the back of her head that told her to get up and not be a lazy jackass and rolled over, as if to smother the feeling. Her eyes slowly cracked open and the bright light coming from her window nearly blinded her. Bright light…holy crap, what time was it?

Her eyes shot open and she quickly reached for her alarm clock, almost falling out of bed in the process. She was late – again. Sighing, she kicked the covers away and slipped out of the bed. Who cared if she was late? She was starting to get used to it, anyway.

She was about to walk out of her bedroom when she abruptly spun around and checked her drawers – just in case. She doubted House would've made his way upstairs without waking her up but there was little that surprised her at this point. Quickly, she slipped on her robe as she bounded down the stairs.

House was awake and grimacing at a bottle of milk. When Cuddy walked in, he lifted up questioningly and made a face. "Soy milk? I had higher expectations."

"It's good," she mumbled, but was slightly appeased. He seemed in a good mood, if good mood meant capable of complaining about something as simple as dairy products. "_And_ it's healthy."

House ignored her. "Soy milk?" he asked again.

"Then…drink juice!"

"Even _I_ have more food," he continued anyway.

"No, you don't!" Cuddy complained walking over to her fridge. "I have much more than you, why are you complaining? If we were still at your place we'd be eating leftover Chinese food."

"You might have more groceries in there but at least I had _edible_ food. What's this? Tofu? You're not Chinese! You're supposed to be Jewish, for the love of Satan…"

Cuddy snatched the milk from his hands and shoved it back into the fridge. "If you don't like it, then don't drink it," she muttered, pretending to be aggravated. However, she couldn't help but smirk slightly at their meaningless banter. It was familiar territory.

_You lied to him. He trusts you now, he likes you, but when he finds out_…

The smirk disappeared almost instantly and House noticed but said nothing, stocking the change of expression in his mind. Something was up, and he was going to get to the bottom of this and when he did, he'd reward himself with a peek through his boss's drawers.

"I need a ride," he said, taking the milk back out of the fridge. "Cameron's an idiot."

"I thought Foreman was the idiot," Cuddy said. "A ride where?"

"I've picked on Foreman all week, it's Cameron's turn. I have Chase scheduled for next month." House poured half a glass of soy milk into a cup and stared at it as if it were alive. "And I need to get to a porn shop. Need a fresh set of DVDs."

Cuddy's eyes widened.

"To the hospital!" he quickly said before she could jump into a screaming session. "You're no fun. You can't even take my jokes anymore. Who have you become?"

"Why do you want to go there?" Cuddy asked. She tried to sound suspicious but the worry crept up in her voice. Again, House caught it but pretended not to notice.

"Well…as of…I don't know, yesterday, I think it was? I still worked there. Everywhere, except for the clinic, of course, but you already knew that."

"But you're supposed to…be…" she stuttered, worrying slightly. What if Weston came back today with an update? Then she'd want to talk to House.

"Forget it," he said before he grimaced and took a sip of his milk. Hmm…wasn't half bad… "I even have a good reason. Cameron's an idiot, remember? Tomorrow I'll have a better one. Chase is an illegal."

"But--"

House feigned surprise. "My, my, Cuddy. Are you saying you don't _want_ me to come to the hospital? Because I can do that…forever if you _really_ want me to."

She hesitated. "Uh…no…"

"And now you're lying. I'm _so _going." He finished the rest of his milk and grabbed his cane, making his way over to the bathroom downstairs.

"You're only going because I don't…_suggested…_ that you shouldn't go!"

"And yet, you find this surprising," he said, smirking and quickly locked the door behind him.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Wilson had just entered his office when his phone started ringing. He dropped his things on his desk and quickly dug into his pocket. Moments before he pressed the talk button, he checked caller ID – Cuddy.

"Good morning, Cuddy," he answered, finally flicking the lights on.

"If House calls you can't tell him about my meeting with Weston."

"I'm fine thanks. How are you?"

"Wilson! I'm serious! He knows something's up and he's going to call you--"

"I _told_ you he'd figure it out!" Wilson said, pointing at an invisible Cuddy as if scolding her.

"Yes, we _both_ knew he'd figure it out. But I don't want him knowing about it. So you're going to have to shut up about it when he calls--"

Wilson's phone vibrated up to his ear and took it away to take a look. Sure enough, it was House.

"Hello?" Cuddy said, frantically when she didn't hear Wilson answer back.

"Hold up, it's House. He's calling."

"Don't tell him!"

"I'll…keep quiet," he sighed, knowing he had not much of a choice. First of all, she _was_ his boss, and even though he didn't have to listen to her when it wasn't work related, she knew how to make his life difficult. Second, he didn't want to be the one to make House angry, even if it technically wasn't his fault. He put Cuddy on hold and answered House's call.

"Hi, House."

"Cuddy called. I'll bet _your_ salary she's on hold right now. I know she is so don't even think about lying."

Wilson knew the game House was playing. One of two things was true. Either House was telling the truth and he really did know that he had just been talking to Cuddy, or he was bluffing. And Wilson was sure it was the latter. Besides, if House really did know that she had just called, he wouldn't have opened with a simple, "Cuddy called." It would have been more like, "What the fuck did she do?"

Without missing a beat, Wilson answered with, "Good morning to you too. Yeah, I slept well, thanks for asking."

"What did Cuddy say?"

He sighed, faking cluelessness. "What now?"

"Cuddy called you. What did she say? Or more specifically, what the hell did she do?"

Wilson nodded to himself as he sat down in his chair. This was more like it. So he _didn't_ really know.

"I'll clue you in as soon as I know what the hell you're talking about," Wilson said smoothly.

"She called you--"

"When?" he yelled. "I don't feel like playing this game so get on with it. Last time I talked to her was yesterday at work."

"About what?"

"Uh…patients…cancer…you know, oncology in general? Bald kids? You remember them, don't you…?"

"She's not telling me something. Something she messed up. And if she won't tell me--"

Wilson scoffed. "There's a shock."

"She'll tell _you_. She's been telling you about all my happy memories concerning my dad, hasn't she?"

Wilson was caught in a corner unawares. Intelligently, he answered, "Uh…"

"Nightmares, insomnia, meter sticks and all the other eight wonders of the world? Ringing any bells, Wilson?"

"There are only seven wonders of the world," Wilson corrected.

"The eighth is hiding in Cuddy's panties."

"Right," Wilson said, not about to stay on _that_ particular subject. He frowned a little, remembering the rest of what House had just said. "Uh…wait…meter sticks?"

"She hasn't told you about that story? Oops. Might've spoiled the ending, then."

Wilson was still slightly worried about this whole meter stick issue but dropped it. "If you don't want her telling me, you can tell her that. Or I can tell her if you don't want me knowing."

"I don't care," House said nonchalantly, and Wilson could tell he was telling the truth.

"Well if you don't mind me knowing why haven't you told me about it?"

"That would be stupid," House answered, putting logic before emotion like always. "She's already telling you everything. Why the hell should I? It would be pointless to hear it all twice. Boring, in my opinion."

Wilson couldn't help but feel relieved at this. So it wasn't that House didn't want to open up to him or let him know. He just found it redundant…in his twisted, psychotic mind. Whatever.

"Okay," Wilson admitted. "So we've been talking…about you…but only about things that have already _happened_ to you. And if it happened to you, then it's no big secret between the three of us. I'm not hiding anything. And _she's_ not hiding anything."

"Yes, she is…and you're covering for her."

"Stop being paranoid, House!" Wilson admonished. "We're not out to get you. Look, I have to go."

"Need to call up Cuddy to get your story straight?"

"I need to see my _patient_," he lied expertly. "Seriously, I'm out of here. Bye."

He hung up without waiting for House's reply and switched lines back to Cuddy. "I am _not_ lying to him anymore. Too much work."

"Did he believe it?" Cuddy asked nervously.

"Yeah, he's convinced…that _I_ know nothing about it. You on the other hand have yet to redeem yourself."

"Really? He believed you? You must be a good liar."

Some compliment. "I've been friends with House for too long. I've learned from the best." Quickly, he changed his tone. "But in all honesty Cuddy, if you can't even go five minutes without giving House a vibe that you're hiding something from him, this whole lying, conniving scheme of yours is _not_ going to work. You're now in House's territory, and from what I've learned, he does the lying, conniving better than anyone I know."

"Thanks for the help," Cuddy mumbled.

"Just tell him. I know you want to…protect…him or whatever but he deserves to know that his kidnapper wants to chat."

"You make it sound better than it really is. His kidnapper that planned on _murdering_ him wants to _mess with his mind_. Say it as it is."

"I still think you should tell him. By the way, House just told me that he knows you've been talking to me about…the nightmares and insomnia. So if he says anything about me knowing act surprised."

"Uh…okay…"

"He also said something about meter sticks but apparently 'I don't know that story'." Wilson added.

Cuddy was silent.

"It's not a good story, is it?" Wilson asked.

"No," Cuddy sighed.

Wilson checked his schedule. "I need to run, Cuddy. Call me when he finds out you've been lying to him."

"Wilson…" she moaned.

"Because, naturally, I'm going to be the one picking up the pieces and sticking them back together…"

"Wilson, stop…"

He did, because he could hear the hurt in her voice. For the first time, he felt sorry for her. She really did have the best in mind for House – she was just going to ruin everything in the process.

"I'll talk to you later, okay?" Wilson said.

"Ok."

Wilson hung up and got his things ready for his first patient of the day. "Cuddy, you'd better know what you're doing," he said aloud as he walked out of his office.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House had scrutinized this woman from top to bottom. She still seemed uneasy, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He doubted it was stress over work – she could handle that. Hell, she handled him at work, didn't he? And House at work was just about as stressful as she could get. So it was either guilt, which should've died off by now, or worry. He didn't know which one was worse. If she was worrying about him he'd just walk into her office and turn it into a pig sty. She could worry about _that_ mess instead of him.

House was staring at Cuddy again, just to get on her nerves while she was driving. Cuddy rolled her eyes and sighed. "What now?" she muttered.

"You're not telling me something."

"And your genius plan is telepathically figure out what it is?"

"Ah ha! So you admit you're hiding something."

"I'm not admitting anything!"

House suddenly scrunched up his face and closed his eyes as if concentrating.

"House, what are you doing?" Cuddy asked.

"I'm _trying_ to tell you that you're being defensive."

She breathed loudly through her nose. There was no point in arguing with him. She could sneeze and he'd somehow use it against her. "I know this may come as a shock, but I _am_ allowed to keep secrets."

"Of course you are. But since we're now living under the same roof keeping secrets is going to become very complicated. And it keeps me from being bored."

"You think this is a game?"

"Of course it's a game! I've worked for you for years! I thought you'd know me better by now. Well, I guess I have to cut you some slack. Wilson is usually the object in my games. But don't worry. You'll get used to it."

"I quit," Cuddy said, giving up completely.

House looked appalled. "You can't quit! Which other hospital administrator would put up with my shit? I'd have to learn how to manipulate a new person, find new forms of blackmail…and that takes time, despite my mad and impressive skills."

"It's nice to know I'm appreciated," Cuddy said, smiling slightly. "I mean I quit playing _your_ game. You're going to twist anything I say to work in your favor anyway, so why should I bother."

"At last! You have learned the beauty of the game. I always win! Isn't that nice?"

Cuddy was about to say something when House's phone started ringing, he pulled it out of his pocket and right before he answered, he told Cuddy, "We shall continue this interrogation later."

"What?" House yelled as he put his phone on speaker.

"New patient, sixteen year old kid with headache, rage, and personality disorder."

"First two sound boring. The third better be relevant."

"He's rude, always angry, a pain in the ass, makes inappropriate comments."

"Wonder who _that_ reminds me of," Cuddy said through the side of her mouth.

House made a face. "You also said he's a sixteen year old kid. Rudeness isn't a symptom, it's a way of life."

"Cameron hates the kid," Foreman suggested.

"Pssh, well that changes _everything_…don't write it on the board, Chase."

"House," Cameron said, speaking for the first time. "It's a personality disorder."

"Fine. Chase! I said you can't write it down."

"You just said it was a symptom!" Chase argued.

"Don't touch my markers, Boy!" House yelled.

"We thought cluster headache but treatment is steroids," Cameron interrupted. "Which the ER already gave him. We tried blood thinners and Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation but that didn't help either."

"And now," House interrupted. "You're thinking hemochromatosis."

Everyone was silent on the other end which meant House was right. "But hemochromatosis is a stupid diagnosis because it doesn't account for the personality disorder you're trying to drill into my head."

"Could be hypothyroidism," Cuddy suggested aloud.

"That…" Cameron started, a little surprised that Cuddy was with him.

"Is _stupid_ because he's becoming aggressive…_not_ lethargic. Sorry Cuddy, you've been kicked out of the sandbox. Big kids only."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and Foreman suggested, "Ruptured dermoid cyst."

"I have an idea," House announced, waiting for attention. "Cluster headaches."

"Uh..House, we already said--"

"Normal treatment didn't work," Chase pointed out. "And we tried _abnormal_ treatment, which still didn't work."

"That may be true," House said. "But we tried _approved_ treatment. And after years of practicing I have learned that approved treatment is bogus." He turned to Cuddy and clasped his hands together as if to beg. "Cuddy, can I have some shrooms?"

Everyone was quiet for a while and Foreman hesitantly spoke up. "It…_could_ work…"

"Hell, no!" Cuddy yelled, immediately shutting Foreman up.

"Cuddy, we're talking _magic mushrooms_. How can you say no? Have you no soul? Have you no heart?"

"You are _not_ giving your patient mushrooms. You've tried the treatment, it didn't work, you're diagnosis is wrong. Ruptured dermoid cyst fits--"

"No fat in the ventricles. See, if you were a _real_ doctor, you'd understand that."

"It's not cluster headaches. You can forget your mushrooms."

"Symptoms don't lie."

"And treatments do?"

"All the time."

"He's not getting mushrooms."

"Fine! Foreman, go cut into his brain and give me some pieces!"

"No!" Cuddy yelled, obviously frustrated.

"Mushrooms have psilocybins that work on cluster headaches. Just give him a _tiny_ piece," he held up his thumb and forefinger at least three inches apart, just to scare her. "Besides, even if he does take too much, what's the worst that could happen? He could use his bedsheets as a cape and jump off the hospital roof which wouldn't be too bad. It's not like anyone likes him anyway."

Cuddy breathed loudly though her nose. The entire time, House's team had been quiet, waiting for approval and knowing they'd get it. "Ten milligrams," Cuddy said, folding. "Max."

"You heard the dominatrix! Stick them mushrooms up his ass!" House slammed his phone shut and stuck it back into his pocket.

"Hey, do you think I could get the leftovers?" House asked.

She pulled into the parking lot and ignored the request.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House quickly limped away from his boss and made his way to his best friend's office. Today was a good day: he had two puzzles to solve. Cuddy's mysterious changing moods, and his jerk-patient. But he was more interested in the first…at least for the meantime.

As soon as he opened the door to Wilson's office, he greeted with, "You're lying to me."

Wilson didn't answer but looked down at his watch. "Huh…ten thirty. You're exactly one and a half hours early. I was expecting a conversation a few minutes before lunch."

"You're lying to me," he repeated, helping himself to a seat.

"I thought you had a patient. Can't you focus on _that_ puzzle, instead?"

"No. Because _this_ one is more interesting."

"Oh, for God's sake, House, there _is_ no puzzle! So Cuddy had a bad day at work. Big deal, you never cared before; unless her bad mood directly affected you. And from what I've been hearing she authorized a dose of magic mushrooms to your patient, so her mood isn't hindering your practice. If you keep digging, you're going to ruin your privileges." Then grimacing, he mumbled, "I never get mushrooms. I get radiation and chemo…"

"Don't diss your own field!" House said, scolding him, though that's what he did on a daily basis.

"I'm not dissing it, I love what I do."

"Wow, you're really jumping on this lying trend, aren't you?"

"You lie."

"Yes, _I _lie. I lie for myself, though. _You _lie to help other people without realizing that you're only making it worse. So spit it out. What's Cuddy lying about?"

"You know, _you're_ the one who lives with her. You should, oh, I don't know…ask _her_."

"She's _lying_," House stressed. "Don't you understand my dilemma? It completely cancels out the whole 'asking her' idea."

"Or she just won't tell you what the problem is. House, lying and shutting up are two very different things. And to top it all off…now you're obsessing. Which means none of us are going to rest until you make up something stupid."

"I'm not going to make up something stupid."

Wilson pointed his finger accusingly at his friend as he realized something. "You always want to get into Cuddy's business. But, now, you're _obsessing_ over little signs that might mean she has something else on her mind. And the only reason you'd obsess is if it somehow affected _you_."

"Or…because I'm curious," House corrected.

"That's true…but this is obsession on a whole new level. You think whatever is on her mind has something to do with you."

House leaned further back in his chair and bounced his cane a few times on the ground in contemplation and immediately, Wilson knew he was right. "I don't need her worrying about me like I'm some newborn."

House was immediately startled when he heard his friend's annoying but jovial laugh. He rolled his eyes. He could smell a lecture...

"You're worried that _she's_ worrying about you? Is that it?"

"She's _always_ worrying. She goes around the house wearing that annoying look. It's always, 'why won't you sleep? Is the insomnia getting worse? Blah, blah, blah…"

"She has a right to be worried about you," Wilson said, his smile disappearing immediately. He realized just how much Cuddy's worrying was getting to him. Did he hate the attention or did it scare him? "Most people that are stuck in a room with a psychopath for two days don't make it out – at all."

"Well, I did. Why isn't that ever good enough for you people? Always out to make thing complicated…"

"Whether or not you want to admit it, it _is_ complicated. You're still processing and it…hasn't been easy. _Cuddy's_ still processing and at this point, all she wants is to see you get better."

"I'm _fine_," he stressed, even though he knew it was going to take a lot more to prove it.

"You two _need_ each other. Especially now."

"Easy for you to say," House snarked back. "You eat neediness for breakfast. I happen to hate it, and she's treating me like how you used to treat your ex-wives - except for the sex and before they became your ex."

"So what's the real problem?"

House looked up at him and frowned, clearly pissed off. "I just told you--"

"I know you hate the attention. But do you hate it because it's…awkward or because it scares you?"

House relaxed back in his chair and sighed loudly. He had already asked himself the same question multiple times, but didn't go as far as to answer them. Not yet. "I could've died."

House wasn't one to indulge in self pity and what ifs, so Wilson expected a point and remained silent as he continued. "So, I could've died. Big deal. I'm not dead, so it doesn't make a difference what _could_ have happened or what _should_ have happened…"

"You think you _should_ have died?" Wilson interrupted, hardly believing his ears.

"Yes, actually, I should have. As you just said, most people stuck in a room with a psychopath don't make it out. I'm just a lucky bastard. But even though it happened weeks ago and I sure as hell don't plan on seeing that son of a bitch again, it's still there. What happened isn't going away. The goddamn dreams aren't going away, the insomnia is getting worse – I know it's bad but Cuddy's doing a hell of a good job making me _know_ just how bad."

"What do you want her to do, sugar coat it?" Wilson asked. That didn't sound like him.

"Hell, no. I just hate knowing that it's that bad. Which is definitely a first – I always want to know. But not this time. I really don't want to know. I want to forget it." He grabbed his cane and was about to walk out of the room. Before he did, he quickly added, "That son of a bitch screwed up my life even more than it already is."

Wilson was left speechless, which didn't happen often when he was around House. He always had to be on his toes, ready to throw back an equally witty and sometimes even harsh reply whenever House made a remark, but he didn't know what to say to any of this. House wasn't just angry – he wanted to _forget_. He didn't want any extra baggage or stockpile of painful memories – he had enough of those. House was admitting that he was hurting. And he'd be hurting a lot more if he found out Cuddy was lying to him – when he found out.

Who was he kidding? He couldn't blame all of it on Cuddy when it eventually happened. He himself was keeping the secret from House too and House would figure it out easily. If Cuddy wasn't going to say anything, he would have to. But he didn't want Cuddy hating him either.

Perfect, Wilson thought to himself. Just perfect.

**Guess what peeps? IT'S CHRISTMAS BREAK!!! HOLLA!! Which means a LOT of updates for YOU! Yes, you…and you…**

**Oh, and this fic was nominated for a Rock the House award! A huge thank you to anyone who nominated this story! I'm so grateful and I'm glad you love it! Thank you one hundred times over!**

**Review please! It makes me happy and it'll make me pop out another update faster than you can say "Gregory House is my hero"…if you say it r-e-a-l-l-y s-l-o-w-l-y. **

**:)**


	15. Chapter 15: Careful

**Hmmm…so I'm hearing a lot of "We want Wilson/House interaction!" so I shall do my best to make my Hilson readers happy. Unfortunately…that ain't gonna be in this chapter so much. :( I was almost done with this chapter by the time I saw how many people wanted some more Wilson/House – but now that I know, you're definitely going to find it in the NEXT chapter – pinky promise (and that's serious, my friends…no one goes back on a pinky promise.)**

**I don't own House. On with the story…**

Chapter 15

House had been staying at Cuddy's for a week now, and at this point, they had a pretty stable routine. House would follow Cuddy to work every day where she would administrate and he'd do everything in his power to make her job harder and save his patients all at the same time. Only now, he was trying _extra_ hard to drive her nuts but she wasn't folding as easily. He'd seen maybe two patients in the clinic all week and she hadn't so much as frowned at him or even asked him to get his clinic duty done. Sure, she had said he could get a break but two patients in one week was pushing it, even for him. But Cuddy wasn't breaking and this was frustrating him. He knew the only reason Cuddy let him work was because he needed it – he needed some sort of familiar territory or foundation, something that wasn't changing and wasn't about to get pulled out from under his feet. But he wanted things to go back to normal – whatever that was. And things weren't there…not even close.

"She's treating me like some fragile pup," House complained once to Wilson.

"Yeah…you've been freed from clinic duty," Wilson had answered, trying to lighten the mood. "What a demon."

Wilson knew what he was getting it, but he it was imperative House understand that he couldn't just snap his fingers and rewind to a couple weeks ago.

One good thing that had happened during the week was the nightmares – or lack thereof. He hadn't had a single nightmare during that week he'd been taking the sleeping pills. Actually, he was sure he was still having some but just couldn't remember them. He'd stay up until one in the morning sometimes trying to solve his latest patient puzzle and then sleep so heavily there was no way a tornado could wake him up, let alone a bad dream. Cuddy noticed the lack of nightmares and was glad that there was at least some improvement. And he hadn't had a single panic attack either. She was starting to think the only reason he had those attacks and flashbacks was because he was at his own apartment. The memory of being dragged out by Ethan must have been the trigger that had been setting it all off.

Today, House was in the clinic, picking up his prescription for his Vicodin. He had just gotten back from eating his lunch (well, Wilson's lunch) and had even taken a nap in the ER. The clinic was full, but House had no intention of staying to help out. Why would he do something crazy like that?

"Dr. House!"

He turned towards the voice, instantly recognizing it, but was unable to place it. As soon as he saw her, he racked his brain for a connection. It was that detective…he remembered, grimacing. He had come to ask him questions back when he was still in ICU about the kidnapping. Of course, House hadn't said too much except for "I don't know", "I don't remember" or "I want more morphine". House sighed, making it clear he didn't really want to talk…especially about Ethan. Ethan could rot in a sewer for all he cared.

"Dr. House, you might not remember me, I'm Detective Weston. I helped out with your case."

_His _case? House wondered. _He_ wasn't the one going to prison. "No, I remember," House said, still trying to send out a 'I don't want to talk to you right now…or ever' vibe. Weston, apparently, wasn't catching it.

"I just had to pick something up from Cuddy regarding the case," she said, nodding towards Cuddy's office.

What about the case? House asked himself. What did Cuddy know about the case that he didn't? For goodness' sake he had _been_ there. Why would Weston go to Cuddy for information?

"I was just wondering if you had made your decision."

House frowned. Now she had caught his attention. "What decision?" he asked, as he signed his name for his prescription.

Weston hesitated for a moment. "Your decision to talk to Ethan…?"

His decision to talk to _who_? House almost yelled. "Pssh…well, I'm not _that_ crazy…" House answered, grabbing his pills and limping towards the elevators.

"I thought you'd consider it since he was offering us the names. If you don't want to I completely understand, the evidence--"

"What names?"

"The names of the people he…murdered…didn't Dr. Cuddy tell you?"

The question was a harsh blow to his chest. _Didn't Cuddy tell you_? It meant so many other things. _Why wouldn't she tell you? Doesn't she trust you? Do you trust her? Do you trust her too much? What is she trying to hide?_

"Must've slipped her mind," House said using his cane to press the elevator button. "Stress…most of which _I_ undeniably caused." Instantly, he silently kicked himself for making excuses. Why was he making excuses for her? Someone who had lied to him about…about talking to Ethan about…wait, what _did_ Ethan want to talk about? Even that he didn't know.

"Ethan admitted to kidnapping other people and murder and he's willing to give us the names of his victims if…he speaks with you for a few minutes. The setting will be completely monitored and we'll check him before he even enters the room but this is entirely your decision. You don't need to feel pressured into doing it if you don't need to. If you _do_, the date will probably be set for next month so you have time to make your decision. And he'll be in prison for life."

It wasn't a lot of information, but those few words left House almost speechless. She was suggesting he talk with the man who forced him to endure ridiculous torture and attempted to kill him – it sure as hell wasn't going to be easy, but if he did this, the son of a bitch would serve a life sentence and that was good enough for him.

"You…should talk to Dr. Cuddy," Weston hesitantly suggested as the elevator doors opened. If Cuddy hadn't told him…well, there was more going on between Cuddy and House that they needed to take care of alone. "She has some of the specifics. Feel free to give me a call. I'm sure you have my number."

"Will do," House said as he stepped inside the elevator. The doors closed leaving him completely alone with his own thoughts.

So that's what it had been – she had kept this a secret from him. For a week. What was her plan? To never tell him? Did she honestly think he'd never find out? When did she plan on telling him? Did she really think he was that much of an idiot…or that he couldn't handle it? He had too many questions and he couldn't differentiate between the emotions coursing through his mind. He was frustrated, angry, but most disturbingly, he was disappointed. He felt betrayed.

But why wouldn't she tell him? The only reason she wouldn't was because she didn't think he could handle it. So that's what she thought – House had been right, she _was_ worrying too much, treating him like a child, abusing the trust he had been so hesitant to give.

The elevator doors opened all too soon and was face to face with Cameron, Chase and Foreman. He groaned. He was already frustrated and looked like he was ready to kill – the last person on Earth he wanted to look at was any of them. _Why do these people always find me when I don't want to see them?_ House wondered.

Before any of them said anything, they could sense the vibe of frustration and anger House was sending and immediately decided to keep things short. "We fixed the patient's heart," Foreman started. "But her kidneys are still failing so it wasn't the underlying problem."

"So put her on dialysis and get a new theory," House demanded limping towards his office.

None of them liked where this was going, but it was either that or the patient's life. Preparing herself for the worst, Cameron spoke up. "She's pregnant so it could be preeclampsia--"

"So check for proteinuria and low platelets," House shot back. "You want to know what's even more likely? Cameron screwed up the test. If the mitral valve had been fixed, the kidneys should be getting better – not worse."

"Or the diagnosis is wrong," Chase said.

"OR!" House yelled. "Cameron screwed up the goddamn test."

"Why are you so adamant that I messed it up," Cameron said back, frowning. "Preeclampsia is _just_ as likely. OR the pregnancy could be irrelevant – a cholesterol embolism that clogged up the vessels in the kidneys--"

"So get a smear and ultrasound her vessels for plaque and stop whining!"

He quickly opened the door to his office, limped over to his desk and immediately began opening drawers, shuffling loose papers and bits and pieces of everything around. Where was it?

Meanwhile, the rest of his team decided to leave him be and run the tests.

"He didn't have to be so rude," Cameron muttered.

"That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard," Chase said, finding it impossible to _not_ define House as rude. It was one of his most identifiable characteristics.

"Blaming me for messing up a simple test…" Cameron muttered.

"He was in a bad mood," Foreman said, not thinking too much about. "Wilson or Cuddy probably pissed him off or he missed that soap he watches in Korean. All _we_ have to do is avoid him."

Back in his office, House was holding up the small card he had been looking for.

_Detective Laura Weston_

_817 339 8117_

He stuck the card in his pocket, thinking. He didn't really want to talk to Ethan, and any other day House would've really considered it. Yes, he wanted to see the bastard in jail – for life, but he honestly didn't want to look at the man. He didn't want to remember. The event was still haunting him, and this wasn't going to help him. He knew that. But he also didn't need Cuddy worrying over him to the point where she kept secrets about his own kidnapper to herself.

No, she _didn't_ keep it to herself. There was no way. She had been telling Wilson about his nightmares, the insomnia, the panic attacks, the flashbacks – there was no way she wouldn't tell him about her latest scheme. So Wilson knew too.

The two of them had formed some goddamn conspiracy against him thinking that they were helping him. He could take care of himself, make decisions for himself. Did they think the nightmares were affecting his judgment? That he was unstable?

No, they didn't even consider that. They had made the decision _for_ him. So which one was worse? Was it that they didn't think he could function or they didn't think he could make simple decisions?

House decisively threw his pager on his desk and grabbed the spare keys he had stolen from Wilson a few months ago. He had never bothered to use it since he came to work in his own vehicle anyway, and if he needed to borrow Wilson's car, all he needed to do was ask for it. Now was the time to put the keys into use. Without a second thought, House caught the next elevator downstairs.

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It was six in the evening when Cuddy decided she was ready to go home – four hours after Detective Weston had come by. She still felt a little guilty about not admitting to Weston that she still hadn't told House, but had pushed the feeling out of her mind for the time being. It had been a week, and he hadn't found out yet…maybe there wasn't much to worry about.

She walked out of her office and made her way toward the elevators to find House and found Wilson just outside her door yelling loudly into his phone.

"Yes, the license plate number was TGY 354…no…yes, I'm sure it's not there! Fine…great…thanks…" Wilson slammed his phone shut, practically growling.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked as she put on her coat.

"My car was stolen."

Cuddy paused for a moment, not sure if she had heard correctly. "Stolen from the parking lot? Did you leave your keys inside?"

"Nope," he jangled his keys in front of Cuddy's nose, angrily. "I have them right here. I locked my doors too."

That was…odd. "Are you sure?"

"Of course _I'm_ sure, but it's my word against my missing car and so far, whoever took it has the upper hand."

"Do you need a ride home?" she asked.

"No, I already called a taxi they should be here in a few minutes. Why the hell did someone take _my _car? Dr. Turner's parked right next to me and _he_ has a goddamn Mercedes…"

Cuddy was still trying to piece it all together. Who would steal a car from the hospital parking lot? It was an open space, almost always busy – maybe that was why no one had noticed?

"Are you going home now?" Wilson asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, I'm ready to leave so I'm going to get House," she said, starting to leave. "I called but he didn't pick up so I'm going to have to drag my ass upstairs and get him myself."

Wilson laughed a little. Well, at least House was having a good time wreaking havoc.

"Goodnight, Wilson." She said, quickly jumping into an opened elevator. She didn't have time to hear Wilson's reply.

Once upstairs, she saw that House's lights were on and hoped he still wasn't working. She didn't want to argue with him again like a few nights ago. She had ended up waiting for him until eleven thirty at night which House found extremely amusing.

She was surprised, however, when she saw Cameron, Chase and Foreman sitting down discussing the case.

"Where's House?" Cuddy asked, hoping he wasn't trying to blow something up.

"We have no idea," Foreman said, turning around in his seat to look at her. "He disappeared around two fifteen or so."

"That's…almost four hours ago! And you haven't seen him since?"

"Nope."

"Didn't you think you should tell someone?!" Cuddy said angrily. None of them seemed to get what the big deal was.

"We…asked Wilson but he hasn't seen him either…and he left his pager on his desk."

"It's only been a few hours," Cameron reassured her. "Do you remember that one time we couldn't find him all afternoon? He was asleep…in an MRI room."

"And he picked up his phone once," Chase added. "About two hours ago."

"So…where did he say he was?"

"He _didn't_ say."

Cuddy couldn't believe this. Have they lost their minds? She sighed and left the room immediately dialing House's number. As she suspected, he didn't pick up.

Okay, think, Cuddy thought to herself. No one's seen him for a few hours. He has to be in the hospital. He didn't drive here by himself so he doesn't have a car. I have my keys with me and he doesn't have a spare. And Wilson…

Wilson…was missing his car…did Wilson ever give House a spare.

Immediately Cuddy called him even though he was only downstairs. Wilson picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" he answered.

"Wilson, does House have a spare key to your car?"

"Uh…no, I don't think so. He's borrowed my car a few times but each time he has my key. I have a spare but it's at home."

"Are you sure? There's no way House could have a key to your car?"

"No, not unless he stole it which isn't unlikely. But I have my keys _here_. He could've just gotten another set of keys made one of those times I lent him my car which I would probably believe. Why? Do you think House took it?"

"No one's seen him for hours."

"Is he in the clinic?"

"Why would he be--"

"Sleeping. He was once in there for two hours."

"No one's seen him for four hours."

Wilson paused for a moment.

"Have you called?"

"Multiple times. He won't pick up," she was starting to get frantic now. The only reason she hadn't been too scared was because she was sure he hadn't left the hospital. If he had Wilson's car he could be anywhere. Where the hell would she start? Why would he just take off like that without telling someone or at least picking up his phone? He knew his team would try and contact him some time. He rarely just let them handle it by themselves.

"Okay…" Cuddy said, thinking as she pressed the elevator button. "Can you just keep calling him? I'm going to check my house and if he's not there I'll check his place."

"And if he's not there?" Wilson asked.

"We'll think of something."

She hung up and willed the elevator to show up. _Come on, come on, come on…_

Where the hell was that man?

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Cuddy would've parked in her spot just in front of the front door but another car was there. Wilson's she guessed, though she couldn't really tell because it was so dark. She parked just in front and quickly jumped out of the car, almost forgetting to lock it behind her. The front door was already unlocked which ended her wishful hoping – House was definitely inside.

"House!" she yelled angrily, all sense of worry immediately disappearing.

"_I'm in the bathtub_!!" House sang in a ridiculously high pitched voice. She would have laughed any day except for two things. The first being the current situation and the fact that he had decided to steal Wilson's car to play a prank.

The second reason was that his voice was coming from upstairs – Cuddy's bathroom.

Cuddy ran up the stairs two at a time. She turned right – towards the bathroom – but almost ran right into House who was leaning on the wall blocking her. House was a good head taller than her and she couldn't even see past his shoulder. Was he holding her bra?!?

He smiled a little, but she could tell his heart was in it. "That desperate to see me in the bathtub?" he half joked.

"Shut up," Cuddy said, anger still flaring in her eyes. "You stole Wilson's car."

"How mad is he?" House asked, not bothering to deflect.

"Extremely! And he's frustrated!"

"Good," he said simply.

"Good? Really? He's stuck at the hospital wondering where the hell it is! He needs to call a taxi to get home! And apparently you haven't even been in the hospital for _hours_. Your team's been calling multiple times but you won't pick up! What the hell do you think you're trying to prove?"

"What did you _think_ I would do, jump off a balcony?"

"I thought you'd act a little more like a grown up and not run off to peek through my drawers!" she spat back. "You've been here for four hours?!"

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen…" he said, obviously disgusted.

"I'm not being a goddamn drama queen! Wilson's car is missing! No one knew where you were! Everyone's worried and you couldn't find the decency to call someone--"

"You wouldn't be half as aggravated if this had happened two months ago," he said as he shifted his weight. "You're only this mad because of the kidnapping, and I assure you, I do _not_ need you hanging over my shoulder twenty four hours a day!"

"Oh, so is that what this is about?" Cuddy said, folding her arms across her chest. "I should let you do whatever you want like a kid in a candy store just because you're House? The world is not your playground and you can't do stupid things like steal your friend's car and go missing for hours on end just because you _feel like it_!"

"And I suppose _you_ have a better idea of what's better for me, right?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Had a little chat with Weston today," House said, leaning on his cane. He immediately noticed Cuddy's countenance fall but he didn't even give a damn. So what, if she felt bad or guilty now? It was too late for that crap. "Heard Ethan wants to go out and have some coffee just like old times. Kinda mean, cancelling my play dates like that."

"I thought--"

"Yes!" House yelled. "You _thought_. Did you think I would never find out? Or, I suppose, you _thought_ what you were doing was right, thought it was better. No need to tell the person who had the right to know. After all…you were in the same room as the man for a full three minutes."

"You couldn't handle seeing him now!"

"And what gives you the right to make that call? It's _my_ decision, my case, and I choose if I want to talk to the bloody bastard or not!"

"You don't even want to see him!" Cuddy yelled. "You know you shouldn't see him!"

"That's not the point!" House yelled throwing his hand up in the angrily as he slammed his cane on the floor. "You lied to me just because you thought--" He stopped. She had just took a step back, and her hands were about to jump towards her face.

"Why did you do that?" House asked suddenly.

Cuddy hesitated. "I…I--"

"You thought I was going to _hit_ you?" House asked quietly. It was almost a whisper.

She stared into his bright blue eyes and saw the disappointment and was immediately hurt. Why did she keep hurting him like this? She kept quiet. There was nothing she could say that could fix anything she had done.

"If you honestly think I would do anything to physically hurt you or that your ridiculous way of protecting me is by lying to me then you really don't know me." He leaned away from the wall and started to make his way around her towards the stairs.

Oh, shit, shit, shit…she messed up. She had ruined it…he'd never trust her now. "I'm sorry," she said trying to stop him. "I'm sorry. I should've told you--"

"Don't tell me you're sorry."

His words were like a slap to her cheek. "Please," she begged taking his arm. "I'm so--, I won't..."

"Let go of me," he said, trying to yank his arm away without pushing her.

She didn't, and he tried to yank his arm away again, moving backwards. "Let go!"

This time she did, knowing the situation was far beyond repair. What she didn't know was that each time House had tried to yank his arm away, he had taken a step back, leading him closer to the edge of the stairs. When House turned to make his way down the stairs, he misjudged the location of the steps and from there, things went downhill – literally. He lost his balance and starting sliding down the stairs.

"House!" Cuddy didn't even think. She jumped after him and grabbed his shirt, half tumbling after him. The two of them slowed and stopped a few steps away from the floor. Cuddy's heart was racing but when she looked at House, she was sure it had stopped. He was panting, his eyes closed and face contorted in pain.

Cuddy looked down to see how far away from the floor they were. House's cane lay a few feet away from the base of the stairs, broken in half.

_Damn_, Cuddy thought. "Are you…okay?" she asked hesitantly. That was a stupid question. Of course he wasn't.

House ignored her and tried to stand up by himself. Cuddy didn't care if he was mad at her. She stood next to him and helped him down silently, trying to hide the tears that were sliding down her cheeks. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I'm sorry I just made everything worse…_

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"He hates me, Wilson!" Cuddy yelled through the phone for the tenth time. She was driving back to the hospital to pick him up so he could take his car. Wilson had told her that he could just tell the taxi to drive him to her place but Cuddy wanted to talk to him – now.

"He doesn't hate you! He's just upset and angry…and disappointed, but he does _not_ hate you."

"I've ruined everything! I made everything worse! He hates me--"

"He doesn't!"

"I've made everything worse!"

"Calm down!" Wilson almost yelled through the phone. "What _exactly_ happened?"

Cuddy took a deep breath and tried to explain. "I came home and he was upstairs and then we started arguing. I told him that everyone was looking for him and that you were angry that House stole your car--"

"He took my car? So it was him? How the hell did he get a key?"

"I don't know, Wilson! But we started arguing and then he told me that he already talked with Weston so he already knew everything…he was angry that I had lied to him and kept it a secret."

Wilson sighed. "He hates the attention, Cuddy."

Cuddy scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"He hates the attention when it's about _this_. I talked to him. He wants things to go back to how they were before. You know he hates change and this happens to be a huge one. He wants some kind of foundation that he knows won't disappear and even that is disintegrating before his own eyes. The fact that _you're_ scared and worrying for him scares _him _and puts it into perspective. You're proving that this isn't something he can just shake off despite how hard he might try to. And he also has to deal with the memories. You had the best intentions in mind for him because you and I both know that Ethan is the last thing he needs to deal with now. But he wants to be able to make the decision. He wants to _control_ something. He feels like his life is in everyone else's hands except for his."

"I just wanted to help him…and I made it worse! I proved to him he can't trust me! He'll never trust me!"

"Give him time. What else happened?"

"We…kept arguing and I…he fell…"

"Okay…"

"Down the stairs," Cuddy blurted before she could change her mind. "He fell down the stairs. And that's how I know I made it worse." The tears were coming again in full force. "When he was a kid…his dad got mad at him and started hitting him with a meter stick until House fell down the stairs."

"Shit…" Wilson mumbled.

"I might as well have pushed him down myself!" Cuddy yelled. "I might as well have! I brought back the memory and he was in pain…his cane's broken, too…but I brought back the memory and he's back at square one. He was getting better and I ruined it because I was trying to control him. I caused his pain, and I hate myself for it."

"Where is he now?"

"He's asleep. He's at home. I just don't know what to do. How am I supposed to fix this? House doesn't do well with damage control."

"I'll talk to him," Wilson suggested.

"He probably already knows you had something to do with this. You might not have agreed with me but he won't see it like that."

"I know. I'll talk to him. Tomorrow."

"Okay."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_I won't do it again, Daddy…I promise…I'll be better…don't hurt her…please…_

_I'm sorry…I'll do it right…_

_Don't hurt her…_

"Oh my God…" Wilson whispered. He and Cuddy were standing outside House's bedroom door to check on him to make sure he was asleep. He was.

He was also having a nightmare.

"That's his first this week," Cuddy whispered quietly closing the door. "He wasn't having any nightmares…not until tonight…because of me. It's my fault. _I _did it. I'm just as bad as his father."

"No, you're not," Wilson said as he looked at her. "His dad did it on purpose. You were trying to _help_ him. And _you_ didn't do this…his father's the reason he has the nightmares to begin with." He thought about what he had just witnessed. "Who is he dreaming about?"

"What?"

"He keeps saying not to hurt 'her'. Who is 'her'?"

"I don't know," Cuddy mumbled. "He never told me. Yet…and he probably never will. He hates me. I practically did this to him."

"No, you didn't. Stop blaming yourself." He sighed. "I'm going to talk to him tomorrow."

"He needs a new cane," Cuddy blurted randomly. "I don't know if he'll come to work."

"The two of us will go out and find him one. He goes to some crazy place to buy his cane…where all the drug dealers are. He doesn't even go to a hospital like a normal person." He rubbed his eyes. "I'll see you both tomorrow, okay."

"Okay, Wilson. And thanks…for everything."

"No problem," he said as he left Cuddy's home. He'd have to fix this. He didn't have much of a choice.

**So this is me DOUBLE PINKY PROMISING to include a whole lot more Wilson-House-ness in the next chapter and in the rest of the fic. REVIEW GUYSSSSSS!!! AND GAALLLLSSS!!!**

**review. review. review. and may a dragonfly not find its home in your underwear.**

**review.**


	16. Chapter 16: Apologize

**I don't own House. Enjoy!**

Chapter 16

It was House's cell phone that woke him up. He rolled his eyes and reached for the table next to the bed. If it wasn't there, then he wouldn't bother looking for it – unfortunately, it was. Just perfect.

"What?" House yelled without checking caller ID.

"Are you still asleep?" Wilson asked. "What the hell!"

"I'm hanging up on you now…" House threatened groggily.

"Heard you need a new cane," Wilson quickly said.

"God, Cuddy has a big mouth. And apparently, you have a smaller one, Benedict Arnold. Why didn't you tell me? You're going to have to suffer for this. There's no talking your way out of it."

"What makes you think I knew?" Wilson asked, feigning innocence.

"Forget it. You can't redeem yourself. Be prepared for insane torture."

"I'll buy you a new cane," Wilson suggested.

House was silent for a moment. "And lunch?"

"Deal."

"Congrats. You just knocked off about two hours of torture." House mumbled. He was still mad at him, and he'd prove it, but he had to get a cane sooner or later. And he definitely didn't want to go shopping for one with Cuddy. He would reserve an entire level of anger for her.

"I'll pick you up in an hour."

"An hour!" House groaned. "What time is it?"

"It's one thirty! In the afternoon!"

"Well your yelling would be pointless if it was one thirty in the morning, now wouldn't it?" House pointed out.

"I'm picking you up in an hour," Wilson repeated.

"How're you going to get here? I have your car, remember?"

Wilson grimaced angrily at how happy House sounded when he said that. "I'm going to get a taxi to drop me off. Don't try and blow up my car."

"Too late."

"Bye," Wilson said hesitantly. He wouldn't _really_ try and blow up his car, right?

"What did he say?" Cuddy asked. She was sitting down in one of the chairs in Wilson's office, looking worried.

"He didn't sound too mad at me," Wilson answered. "But I'm pretty sure he has his punishment already picked out for me. He might have painted my car pink."

"So he wasn't _that_ mad at you."

"Cuddy, I don't see why _you_ couldn't just talk to him. You shouldn't be scared of him."

"I'm not. But the problem is, I can't talk to him because he won't answer me. He'll just ignore me. He woke up this morning and I asked how he was and if he wanted anything for breakfast but he didn't even look at me. He acted like I didn't exist."

"I have trouble believing that House can go so long without saying a single word to you."

"And yet he did it," Cuddy said sitting back in her chair. "He didn't say a single word to me which proves that he hates me. He doesn't want to talk to me, he doesn't want to even look at me. He ate breakfast and went back to bed without saying a single word and it's even worse than him just yelling at me or insulting me…"

"Cuddy, calm down…we're both equally in trouble here. We're both to blame. But he didn't get half as angry at me, which means there's something else that happened or something he's not telling us. I'll talk to him today, I promise."

Cuddy nodded once, not entirely convinced. She stood up, ready to leave his office. "Alright."

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"Why can't you go to a medical supply store like a normal person to get a cane?" Wilson complained as he inspected the hole in the wall that House had dragged him into.

"Stop whining and take your punishment like a man," House said "After you convince me to forgive Cuddy maybe I should offer her this as a peace offering."

Wilson was a little surprised he had said anything at all about forgiveness so he turned to see what House was talking about. Immediately, he closed his eyes, shuddering. House was holding up a skimpy bunny costume and grinning like a chesshire cat. "God, you had to put that image into my head, didn't you?"

"Think of it as part of my punishment…hell, that's not even a punishment. Unless you're gay. Funny…I believe we already had this conversation."

"Right," Wilson said opening his eyes just to see House inspecting the costume. He could be such a child. "House, put it _down_."

He waved it around Wilson's face for a second before throwing it somewhere. "Where is that guy?" House complained looking for the salesman. He rang the bell three times before messing with a few canes in a corner. None of them seemed to grab his attention.

"Wha-at?" an old man said, slowly approaching the counter.

"What do you got in bitchin'?" House asked. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"If you choose something expensive, you can just forget lunch," Wilson warned his friend. The fact that House didn't seem too mad at him was making him feel bolder.

"Don't push your luck," House snarked back to put him in his place.

The salesman lifted up a glossy dark brown, arch handled cane. Wilson glanced at House who seemed impressed. "Very cool…"

The salesman added, "Genuine bull penis stretched over a metal rod."

House didn't look all too impressed suddenly and Wilson wasn't sure if he should snort or look appalled.

"Penis canes are murder," House said, handing it back. "Let me see that one."

The salesman lifted up a black cane with orange and yellow flames on the end.

"Bitchiiin'…"

"You would," Wilson admonished, taking out his wallet. From the look on his friend's face their cane-searching days were over. Then to the salesman he asked, "How much?"

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"You know, I've been expecting a lecture of some sort, and I'm starting to think I'm talking to an imposter," House said as he bit into his sandwich. The two of them were in Wilson's car on their way back to Cuddy's place.

"I've been expecting the silent treatment and now I'm starting to think _I'm_ talking to an imposter," Wilson deflected. "You're not talking to Cuddy. At all. It's kind of terrifying."

"That I'm mad at her? I don't see how that's scary."

"No, it's terrifying that you're not saying anything. No insults, no deflection, no making her feel like crap – you're not talking to her. It's…different…"

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty pissed off at you right now," House said angrily.

"You're not that mad."

"Hey, don't even think you're getting out of this in one piece – or anything that belongs to you for that matter. You're an idiot, why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Great, Wilson thought to himself. _Now_ House was mad at him. That's just what he wanted. "Cuddy didn't want me to tell you. So…I respected her wishes."

"To hell with her wishes!" House yelled. "You knew I'd find out eventually, so you keeping it a secret is pointless. You know that, and yet you decided to act like the biggest idiot of the century and _not_ tell me."

"It's what I do," Wilson said lazily. "So why aren't you mad at me?"

"I just said--"

"Oh, cut the crap! You're not mad at me, not even close. And yet you're practically killing her."

"It was _her_ idea not to tell me. She didn't want me knowing because she thinks she has the right to make decisions for me. She thinks she knows what I need and what I don't need; thinks she knows what's best for me. It's not even her business."

"Okay, fine," he raised up one hand as if to surrender. "So she shouldn't have kept it from you or made decisions for you. And in my defense, I disagreed with her."

"And I strike down your defense," House answered. "She had no right to keep it from me – and _you_ had no right to keep it from me. It's not your decision and it's not hers."

"Okay…so what did she do?"

House dropped his sandwich and glared at him and even Wilson's fear went up a notch as he quickly explained what he meant. "I understand if you're angry but you're still talking to me. What did Cuddy do that you're now keeping a secret? There has to be something for you to simply _not talk to her_."

"I'd hate to smash my _new_ cane on your head," House threatened. "Then you'd have to buy me a new one. I just explained this!"

"Now you're deflecting. Which means that there _is_ something else that happened. What did she do?"

House slumped in his seat and tried to ignore him. Stupid Wilson and his stupid interrogations. "She thought I was going to hit her."

Again, Wilson was caught by surprise. Cuddy hadn't mentioned that. "She thought you'd hit her?"

"I don't need an echo," House admonished. After a beat, he continued. "We started arguing, then we started yelling, and then she thought I was going to hit her."

"And…that's what really ticked you off…" Wilson concluded, fitting the pieces together.

"I'm still pissed she didn't tell me, especially now. She knows that I _need_ to know. With everything that's happened the least she could do was let me make my own decisions. She can't even trust me to do that and she can't even trust me to _not_ attack her. She thinks I'm useless. And what's worse she's convinced I'm useless and can't even function properly."

"You're not useless--"

"I'd never hit her. She knows that. I'll yell at her and insult her until I work my way to hell and I'll make her feel like the biggest pile of shit, but I won't hit her. It's like she thinks I can't even recognize those invisible lines to not cross…"

Wow, Wilson thought to himself. He was really beating himself up over this thing. "You're disappointed," he interrupted. Judging from the sudden silence House presented he was right. So Wilson continued. "You're disappointed that she even could think you'd hurt her. House, Cuddy knows you won't hurt her. She trusts you, more than you can possibly know. Believe me, I've been putting up with her for the last couple hours. She's more worried that you don't trust _her_."

"I don't," House muttered angrily.

"Yes, you do. You do trust her. And that's why you didn't call me and tell me to pack your bags and bunk in my place. You're willing to give her another chance."

House rolled his eyes. "Save it for the altar…hey, where do you think you're going? Cuddy's house is that way…" he pointed in the opposite direction.

"I know where Cuddy lives," Wilson said, continuing on the road. "We're going to the hospital."

"Why!?!" House yelled like an angry ten year old.

"Because _you're_ about to talk to Cuddy."

"Hell, no," House said simply.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"What the--" Cuddy stuttered when she walked into her office to see House sitting on her couch with a lollipop in his mouth. Wilson was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room.

"He made me do it," House said pointing at Wilson.

The first thing Cuddy thought was that she was happy that House was talking to her, even if it was just to blame someone. It didn't really count, but in her head it did. But she wasn't about to give in so easily. She turned around, grabbed her lab coat and was ready to walk out the door.

"Hey!" Wilson yelled after her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I have to work."

Quick as flash, Wilson rushed out the door before she could and locked it behind him before Cuddy could react. Cuddy rolled her eyes and reached into her lab coat pocket to get her key but quickly looked up when she realized it wasn't there.

"Wilson!" she yelled. "How did you even get a key?"

"You left it in your lab coat," Wilson said shrugging. "I learn from the best." He pointed at House who didn't look so pleased.

"Wilson, open this door right now!"

"I'll be back in five," Wilson added, dangling the keys in front of Cuddy before walking off.

"I'm still not talking to you," House said, sucking on his lollipop. Obviously the statement was contradictory in itself but Cuddy guessed it was House's way of saying 'I'm still mad but my degree of anger has slightly diminished at this point'.

Cuddy groaned and sat on the other side of the room where Wilson had been sitting in just a few moments ago.

The two of them were silent for a moment, waiting for the other to start talking. After about half a minute of awkward silence, House said, "Well, that was nice. I'm going to go break the door down now." He picked up his cane and started to get up.

"Hey!" Cuddy said completely serious. "Sit!"

"Well, you're not talking and don't think I'm going to."

"We sit here, wait for ten minutes and tell Wilson we had a meaningful chat," Cuddy suggested.

"Oh, you've learned so much from me."

Cuddy laughed half heartedly. Then, in a serious tone, said, "I'm sorry for not telling you about Ethan."

"I thought we were going to lie to Wilson about the meaningful chat. Can't lie if we actually did it."

"Can you shut up? I'm trying to apologize," Cuddy pouted.

House rolled his eyes and made a face but didn't say anything.

"I should have told you about Ethan. It's your decision, your call. It had nothing to do with me and I'm sorry I abused your trust."

"Did you practice this speech in front of the mirror?"

"House, can you just shut up? For one second? I'm sorry, alrightt? I don't know what you want me to do now. What do you want me to do?"

House didn't answer for a moment, but then said, "Oh, I'm sorry…I thought you told me to shut up."

Cuddy sighed and threw her hands up in the air. "Fine. Stay mad at me. I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

"Shut up!"

House tried to look terrified. And another period of silence followed. Cuddy looked like she was ready to kill the entire time and even House was a little worried – at this rate she'd pop a vessel.

"Did you really think I was going to hit you?" he asked suddenly.

Cuddy hesitated. "No."

"Yes, you did. You thought I was going to hit you."

"I didn't."

"Then why did you flinch like that?"

"House, I was already frustrated. I was mad and nervous…and worried."

"Worried about what?"

"That you'd hate me," she answered after a beat. "That you'd never trust me. I thought I ruined that. I shouldn't have decided for you, or kept it from you…it was stupid."

"Yes, it was."

Cuddy laughed. "Are you going to talk to Ethan?"

"You plan on stopping me?"

"No," she said simply. And she meant it.

House shrugged. "I don't know. Haven't really thought about it yet."

"Do you want to?"

House shrugged again. "I don't know."

Cuddy nodded, understanding, one thing still on her mind. She saw Wilson peek through the window and decided to quickly say it before he came in.

"House?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you trust me? After everything…do you still trust me?"

He didn't have the chance to answer. Wilson unlocked the doors and tossed the key to Cuddy. She grabbed it and stuck it in her pocket.

"That was a lot longer than five minutes," House instantly complained.

"Good," Wilson shot back about to leave.

"Hey, wait for me!" House said, getting up. "You're my ride."

"I'm not dropping you off anywhere," Wilson quickly said. "I'm working. And so can you."

"Hey, you owe me…" House attempted to guilt his friend.

"I bought you lunch! And a new cane, that's even a bonus. I owe you nothing." Wilson put up his hands as if to prove he was innocent and started to back out of the room.

"You're good for nothing," House whined walking out of the room. He turned to close the door behind him but not before answering Cuddy's earlier question.

"Yes." He closed the door behind him without looking at the expression on her face. If he had, he would've seen relief. Relief that she had not lost one of her closest friends.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_Detective Laura Weston_

_817 339 8117_

House fingered the card, cell phone in his hand. It was six and he was sure Cuddy was ready to leave now. He quickly dialed the number, waiting to hear Weston's voice. Instead, he was stuck with her answering machine.

"Detective Weston, this is Greg House. I've made my decision concerning Ethan – I'll talk to him when you've got everything set up. Give me a call on this number."

**It's a short chapter, I know, but at least it's an update, right? And in case I don't update before Christmas…**

**MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! :)**


	17. Chapter 17: Nostalgia

**I'm super sorry a million times over for not updating in such a long time. But between Christmas and New Years, I attended four parties and tried to finish reading Wuthering Heights since school is back in business on Monday :S Hope you had an awesome New Years though! I'm excited for 2010 – graduation in six months!!! HOLLA!!**

**But my new years resolution is to update more on fanfiction. December just wasn't my month. I updated maybe four or five times. Not cool. But I hope you enjoy this XTRA long chapter! **

**I don't own House.**

Chapter 17

"Flames…" Cuddy told House as the two of them walked towards Cuddy's car. She was looking down at his cane, noticing the orange and red flames at the bottom. "Seriously?"

House had another lollipop in his mouth and looked anything but serious as he raised an eyebrow at Cuddy's question.

Cuddy rolled her eyes and sat inside the car, slamming the door behind her. "You can be such a child," she mumbled.

"Because, deep down, we _are_ all children," he suggested.

Cuddy started the car and stared him down. "How many of those things have you had anyway?"

House frowned, clamping down a little harder on the lollipop. "Not many…nine?" he muttered, though it was hardly understandable with the candy in his mouth.

"Give me that. What are you trying to prove? That you can be a pain and rot your teeth at the same time?" she grabbed the stick poking out of his mouth, sure he'd let go out of surprise, but House held on tighter.

"Rmrrmm…." House mumbled, frowning not letting go of the lollipop.

She rolled her eyes and let go, and started to back out of the parking lot. She doubted he had anymore stashed up his sleeve and tomorrow…well, tomorrow was going to have to take care of itself, now wasn't it?

She suddenly pouted slightly in concentration – that was a…different approach. "Tomorrow can take care of itself"? She was the same woman who wanted to make sure tomorrow went the way she always planned. And the day after, and the day after that. House's way of life was starting to rub off on her.

She heard a small crack next to her and she spun her head to House's direction. He looked slightly sheepish as he pulled out the lollipop that had been snapped in half by his teeth. Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Don't you know how to at least _eat_ a single piece of candy?"

"Of course I do," House answered, trying to look defensive. "I've had practice – I had almost ten today, remember? I'm just more worried you'll attempt to rip it out of my skull next time." Cuddy raised an eyebrow but couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Stop by my place," House mumbled, chewing off the rest of his lollipop.

"Why?" Cuddy asked hesitantly.

"I want my car."

"Okay…" she continued.

"Oh, I need a reason too?"

"Yes, actually you do. Because _I_ have the car and _I_ get to choose whether or not we go to your place or not. And _I_ want to hear a reason."

"This dean of medicine thing is really giving you a big head, now isn't it?" House muttered. "I want my car – to drive in. And if you don't give me a car, I'll just steal Wilson's whenever I want something."

"And how does that affect _me_?"

"It works indirectly. If you want, I can just steal your car." House suggested, already sure he'd get what he wanted.

"Fine," she mumbled, folding. "We'll stop by your place."

"Aww…so you trust me?"

"Yeah…I trust you'll make my life hell if I don't let you get what you want."

House smiled and nodded once. "Exactly."

As soon as he was sure he had devoured every last piece of candy on the end of the lollipop stick, he wound down the window and quickly threw the stick outside before Cuddy could say anything about it. She wouldn't have. There was no point.

"I decided to talk to Ethan," House said casually as he wound the window back up. He turned to take a look at Cuddy's expression – she couldn't look more surprised and horrified. "Geez, Cuddy, I only threw out a small stick, when I start tossing out whales then you have permission to look horrified at me for ruining the environment."

"You…want to talk to him?" she asked slowly, ignoring the deflection.

"Yeah," he said quickly, as if he was worried he would change his mind in a few seconds.

"You sure?"

"Why, plan on cancelling my date behind my back?"

"No," she said quickly, a little surprised at the sudden hostility. "I just know that if it was me--"

"Which it _isn't_," he reminded her.

"_If_ it was me," she continued anyway. "Then I wouldn't want to see him."

"Yeah, right," House half laughed. "You'd want to see him and everyone else would tell you not to, but you'd do it anyway."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you'd want to go so that he'd give up the names of those other people he killed so all the other families that were affected would have some sort of closure. You'd be doing it to make the world a better place, one screwed up family at a time."

"So why are _you_ going?" Cuddy challenged.

House shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it does, House," she said as she pulled in front of House's place. "If you're going for _that_ reason, then that's fine. If you're going to make sure Ethan spends a lot longer in prison, then that's fine too. But if you're going just because you want to get on my nerves, then that's _not_ fine. You know that you going is…going to be hard. But despite that, you seem to have made up your mind. So you're going to do this to give others some sort of closure--"

House scoffed and looked disgusted to show that wasn't his reason.

"Or give _yourself_ some sort of closure--"

Here, he nodded and pretended to consider the idea.

"Or because you're a masochist," she completed.

He bowed down his head in mock shame. "It's true," he sniffled.

"If you're doing this just because I don't want you to, you're not proving anything. You'll just get hurt."

House rolled his eyes. "I get enough of this from Wilson."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked suddenly.

"First, you accuse me, and now you want to have a heartfelt chat? What's your intention, give me psychological whiplash?"

Cuddy sighed, realizing that this conversation wasn't getting anywhere. "So you don't want to talk about it. At all?"

"Did I make it too obvious?"

"So why are you here?"

House exhaled loudly. "That's a good question. We live in the blue states right? So…monkeys and evolution? But you're Jewish so--"

"I meant why are you still here in the car? I'm parked right outside your apartment. If you don't want to have this conversation all you have to do is walk out. Unless, of course, you actually _want_ to have this conversation…if you actually want to talk about it?"

He simply stretched out his hand, palm up, smirking slightly. "Need my keys first." After a pause, he added, "To…start my bike."

She sighed, obviously giving up, then frowned as a realization hit her. "Wait…your _bike_? I thought you were using your car."

"You and your assumptions."

"No, I didn't assume anything. You _said_ you wanted your car."

"You and your interpretations," House corrected. "Give me the keys to my bike."

"No!"

"Fine. Give me the keys to my car."

Cuddy gladly dropped them into his open hand. As soon as she had, he lifted up one of the keys on the key chain. "Thank you."

She nodded once, a thin line forming where her lips were. "Those are your bike keys aren't they?"

House shrugged. "Of course they are. How else would I get them if I didn't lie to you? I have my car keys, I just want my bike." And with that, he quickly got out of the car before Cuddy could stop him or say anything about it.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"What's a nine-letter word for an animal that lives around sand?" Cuddy asked, frowning, her nose wrinkling up in confusion. She was sitting on the couch next to House who was flicking through television channels.

"Crossword puzzles are for old, bored people."

"Nothing's nine letters. Snake, lizards..camels..."

House thought for a moment. "Dromedary. But I still don't approve of your crossword puzzle."

Cuddy ignored him and filled in the word in the space.

"Okay, what's--"

"I'm not answering anymore of those stupid questions," House interrupted. "God, Cuddy, I'm trying to do something constructive here." He changed the channel again.

"Oh, really? Sure looks like it."

"Oh, you mean this," he asked, pointing at the television. "That's not constructive. But this is." He pulled out another lollipop from his pocket and started unwrapping it.

"House. Really? And that's not constructive either."

He shrugged in response. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I could punish you."

"You have no idea how long I've hoped you'd say those words."

Cuddy laughed a little but continued her sentence. "I could punish you by making you attend the fundraiser in two weeks."

House suddenly forgot about the piece of candy he had started unwrapping. "Hell, no."

"Hell, yeah."

"But that's not fair!" House whined. "I'm freed from clinic duty but I have to attend a stupid fundraiser instead? That's not freedom!"

"Oh, by then, your clinic duty freedom will be over," she said smiling as she leaned a little closer to him. "You'll be back wiping snot from little kids' noses in one week."

House grimaced as he stared back at her. "You sound ridiculously pleased with your plan to cause me as much discomfort as possible. If I were you I'd cut a guy some slack especially after he found out you've been _lying_ to him about a certain someone for over a week."

Cuddy frowned and shifted her attention to her crossword puzzle. "That's not fair."

"It is if it works and I get out of the fundraiser."

She smiled a little at that, knowing he brought it up not because he was still mad about it, but because he was trying to utilize any modicum of guilt she might harbor to get out of a responsibility. That was a typical House, and that she could deal with. "Not going to work." She looked up at him and then quickly back at the newspaper in her hand. "That still wasn't fair."

"You know me. I'm Mr. Fair. I practically invented the concept."

"Right…"

"Okay, maybe I didn't. But I perfected the concept of _unfairness_."

When she didn't answer, he said, "I am not going to that fundraiser."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"It's an open bar."

House seemed to consider. "How long is it?"

"A couple hours. You don't even have to stay for the whole thing. Come on, it's not that bad, it's not like you've been to any. There will be a lot of nice people for you to judge and piss off. Think of it as a new challenge…or a new game…"

"Are you…attempting to appeal to my ego? My ego isn't stupid – it doesn't need _another_ chance to prove itself."

"Please?"

"Why would you want me to come? I'll make your life and everyone else's life hell. I'm not only making myself happy by not going but I'm doing you a favor. Nothing seems to please you."

"I want you to come."

"Oh…you _want_ me to come? Well, that changes everything. I'll have to think about it."

"Really?" Cuddy asked, surprised that it was that easy.

"No! You used to be less gullible. And more fun." He smiled mischievously as he stood up and limped towards the kitchen, leaving his cane by the couch. "Let's play a game!"

"Yeah, a game of poker so I can beat you? Again?" Cuddy grinned with an equally mischievous look on her face. The fact that she had beaten House at poker was something she'd be holding against him for a long time.

"Hey, we played what you wanted last time, so now I get to choose."

"_You_ chose the game last time."

"No, you _modified_ the game. I wanted to play strip poker."

"We're not playing strip poker, House!" she yelled.

House walked back into the living room with a bag of chips in one hand and a bowl of salsa in another. "Chicken."

"Where did you get that?"

House made a dumb expression. "In _your_ kitchen. We happen to be at…_your_ house. So logically I decided to search through _your_ things."

"Let me rephrase that. When I asked where you got that, I meant, why did you get it? You can't waltz through my things and--"

"Actually, I can," House interrupted, ripping the bag open. "Don't act like you don't want some." He lifted up the bowl and held it out in front of her, shaking it around slightly. "Yummy…" When she didn't make a move to take any chips, he shrugged, and dropped the bowl in his lap and helped himself.

"That's a lot of salsa. You're not going to eat all of it are you?"

"It happens to be all your salsa," he corrected.

"House!"

"House!" he yelled back with an equally whiny tone. He reached for the remote control and once again resumed browsing channels. Cuddy could barely tell what was on as the images on the screen changed so quickly she barely had time to process what she had seen.

Suddenly, her eyes lit up a few moments after a particular image had darted across the screen. "House! Go back!"

House frowned slightly. "Why…"

"Just go back! Quick!"

House went back a few channels grudgingly.

"Stop! Stop!" Cuddy yelled suddenly as she pointed at the screen. House held his bowl of salsa protectively to keep it from spilling as he stared at the television to figure out what the big deal was.

"A Christmas Story," he stated simply. "In April. Yes, that is a true miracle. Wait a minute…is this that channel that's convinced that Christmas lasts until August? That's no miracle."

"Who cares what channel it is? Don't you remember when we watched this at Michigan?"

_Why would I remember something like that?_ House asked himself.

"Remember?" Cuddy was growing increasingly excited and from the looks of it, she'd descend into unforgivable anger if he didn't remember. "It was me, you, Richard, Kelly, Brenda and…" she counted each person off on her fingers but couldn't remember the last person. "And someone else, I forgot who. But we were at…your apartment…I think…and it was May…"

Now he remembered. But it hadn't been the first thing that popped into his head when he passed the channel. "You remember the dumbest things."

"It's not dumb," she said, throwing the newspaper with her crossword puzzle aside and helping herself to some chips and salsa. "It was at two in the morning or something ridiculous. Exams were over so after that one party we all crashed at your place."

House chuckled. "I remember the _party_, Party Pants."

Blood instantly rushed to Cuddy's face until she looked like a ripe tomato. "That wasn't fair…it was the end of the semester…I was drunk…"

"And obviously never had been before. How many drinks did you have anyway?" House was having fun bringing up these memories. One thing he didn't see often was Cuddy embarrassed. Time to milk this experience for as long as possible.

"I wasn't even _that_ drunk," she hesitated in a feeble attempt to redeem herself. "I was just…"

"Having _way_ too much fun?" House joked. "It was funny. It was obvious you never had fun."

"Fun and drunk are not synonymous, House."

"In college they are. You never went out, you never went to parties--" he started to list everything, counting them off on his fingers.

"I never went to parties because I had to study!"

"That was just an excuse. There were tons of weekends you had nothing better to do." He pointed his finger accusingly at her. "You wouldn't go to any parties unless I dragged you along."

"Well, it was obvious that you really wanted me to come," she accused, trying to shift the subject from her to him.

"I didn't want you to die so young and never understanding the true meaning of happiness," he casually deflected.

"So you trying to get me half drunk so I could embarrass myself in front of almost everyone I knew was your twisted understanding of happiness?"

"How was having fun embarrassing?" House asked, for once completely baffled.

"I danced with anything with a pulse or a pole," Cuddy complained.

"Including the bartender," House reminded her. "That was funny."

"And you didn't even do anything. You just watched me and laughed."

_It was funny. It was cute_. That's what he really wanted to say. She was always in her room or in the library studying for her next exam or her next class. He wouldn't have cared if she really did need all that time to study, but she was smart. She could practically inhale chapters at a sitting and brush up on it every now and then before a major exam and still ace it. When House met her that day in the library he could immediately tell she needed to relax – for once. Of course she was convinced all he was trying to do was get in her pants (which he was, at first, he wouldn't deny that) but after a while, it became a known fact that Lisa wouldn't even consider going to a party unless she knew Greg was.

Then there was the end of the year Party at Danny's. And Lisa downed drinks faster than anyone thought possible – for Lisa, that is. And with that came endless entertainment for Greg. She really did dance with anything with a pulse or pole and completely ignored all boundaries and sense of decency. It was something he never saw Lisa do, and it was cute.

"Hey, I didn't just watch and laugh," House quickly said, remembering. "I took videos, pictures and stopped you from stripping."

"I never started stripping," Cuddy said a little hesitantly, not really too sure.

"And I gave you a ride to my place where you watched that stupid movie." He pointed out. _And one thing led to another._

Cuddy could remember it like it was yesterday. It was the end of the year. House was done with medical school now and she was still an undergraduate. They had known each other for a year or so and were close friends. And she would miss him. After the movie, everyone else went their separate ways except for her. She had stayed at his apartment, helped him with some last minute packing which eventually led to a bed…

So much for 'close friends'.

The silence between the two of them now, sitting in Cuddy's living room, was proof enough that they both remembered what had happened all too well.

She also remembered when she had met Stacy. She subconsciously grimaced.

_Lisa had just finished yet another medical school interview – this one at Johns Hopkins. She had been so nervous she hadn't even bothered with breakfast and now, at one in the afternoon, she was sure she could practically inhale a restaurant. In her hurry out, she ran into a young woman who was on the phone._

_The woman happened to be holding a coffee cup as well._

"_Damn it!" she yelled while still on the phone, half of the cup's contents spilling on her shirt and floor._

"_Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Lisa was still jumpy from the interview, she was about ready to cry. "I'm so sorry! Shit…"_

"_Hey, it's okay, it's fine…" the woman assured her. Then she rolled her eyes smiling a little as she spoke to whoever was on the phone. "No, not you, Greg. Yeah, I'm downstairs, I'll see you in a few, okay?"_

_Lisa's ears perked up slightly, remembering the name but not staying on the topic. Instead, she handed the woman a wad of paper towels from a dispenser. _

"_You finish an interview?" the woman asked as she tried to clean herself up._

"_Yeah, I'm all fidgety. Honestly, though, I'm really sorry."_

"_It's fine. It's not that bad."_

"_What the hell happened to you?" asked a familiar voice that was a few feet behind Lisa._

"_Well, hello to you too," the woman said, smiling. "How was the conference?"_

"_That's a stupid question," House said, before kissing her on the cheek. He then turned to see the cause of the destruction and was completely taken aback when he saw Lisa Cuddy holding up a wad of paper towels and looking flushed and sheepish._

"_Hi, Party Pants," he greeted, trying to mask the surprise._

_He had kissed her. That…woman. He had kissed her. Well, what did she expect? That he wouldn't eventually decide to have a serious relationship? Besides, he and Cuddy had never even been in a relationship anyway. Why was she jealous? _

"What do you think you're doing?" House half yelled, dragging her out of her memory. He grabbed the bowl of chips away from Cuddy's lap and held on to it protectively.

"What?" Cuddy asked.

"You're crushing the chips!" he accused, pouting like a child. "Just because you're an administrator doesn't mean you get to have everything you want – like crushed chips. In some countries that's a sin."

Cuddy looked down at her hand. Sure enough, she was holding a small powder of what used to be a tortilla chip.

"Aren't you going to ask what country?" House prompted. "Because I have a really good answer if you do."

"Shut up," Cuddy asked as she sat back to watch the movie.

"That's not the right question. That's not even a question."

"I'm trying to watch," Cuddy warned him as she quickly grabbed for a chip before House could complain about it.

He didn't. He caught the hint – apparently Cuddy really wanted to watch _A Christmas Story_.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_The movie was long over and everyone else had gone home. Only Greg and Lisa remained. She was lying down on the couch, ready to fall asleep where she was and he was picking up a couple empty bottles and throwing them in the trash._

"_Do you need a ride to your dorm or do you think you can make it there on your own in one or two pieces?" he joked._

"_Stop yelling…" Lisa moaned._

"_BUT I'M NOT YELLING!!"_

"_GREG!!" Lisa yelled loudly, jumping up from the couch. Now she was ready to strangle someone. She followed him into his room. Now he was folding up some of his clothes and throwing them into a suitcase._

"_Greg, there's no point in folding a shirt if you're not going to iron it or even put it in the suitcase properly," she corrected, forgetting her desire to murder him and sitting next to the suitcase to fold everything properly._

"_Thanks, Mommy!" he said, lying down on the bed and throwing his clothes at her one at a time._

_The two of them were quiet for a minute. Toss and fold, toss and fold. Greg broke the silence first. _

"_You had fun tonight."_

_It was a statement of the facts. Not a question, Lisa noticed. "Ha ha, very funny."_

"_You did, though didn't you?" he said, smiling as he tossed her another shirt. "I told you that you would."_

"_Because I drank until I didn't know which way was up!"_

"_You weren't even drunk!" Greg said, laughing. "If you were really drunk you'd be puking right now. A child like you couldn't handle the real deal. You just drank a little more than usual which apparently was a lot for you."_

"_I'm not a child!" Lisa said, ignoring everything else he had said._

"_You know what? I think you're right? I mean the way you danced with the bartender? No, you definitely left childhood behind for good."_

"_Yippee," Lisa moaned, rolling her eyes, folding something else. A millisecond later, she realized it was a pair of boxers. "Greg! What the hell!"_

"_What?" he asked, about to throw her a shirt. After realizing what it was, he grinned. "Oops. My bad."_

_Lisa stood up, dropping his boxers on the floor. "Forget it. I'm not touching your stuff anymore."_

"_Awwwww!!"_

"_I mean it!" she said, trying not smirk as she sat down on the bed next to him. She looked around the room. The walls were bare, his guitar had been packed up…being in his room made it sink in even more that he was gone in a week. For good. And she still had years if she was going to stay at Michigan for medical school._

"_What?" he asked quietly, nudging her, though he could tell just what the problem was._

"_Everything's gone," she said simply. "It's empty."_

"_I know. Maybe if I leave a comb or something, this apartment will be haunted."_

"_I didn't know you even owned a comb," Lisa deadpanned._

"_What I'm talking about here is bigger than a stupid comb. I'm talking about a haunted apartment!"_

_It didn't cheer her up. She remembered the first time she had met him in the library. He had completely interrupted one of her late night study sessions just to get on her nerves and figure out what made her tick and she made it abundantly clear she was not interested. Yet, almost on a daily basis, he'd show up and he'd always find Lisa at the same place. She made no attempt to avoid him. She had been to his apartment dozens of times to study, or to talk and even though she never would have guessed it one year ago, they had become good friends. It didn't seem fair that after she had gotten used to the infamous Gregory House interrupting almost every aspect of her life he was going to just disappear._

"_I'll miss you," she admitted as she rested her head on his shoulder._

_He nodded gravely. "Wish I could say the same. But if it's any consolation, I will miss your fine ass."_

_She chuckled lightly. "Thanks," she joked, but she wasn't really into it._

"_It's not the end of the world, Lisa. You knew I was out of here by the end of the year."_

"_I know. But it still sucks."_

"_Life sucks."_

"_Greg the optimist."_

"_How else would you remember me?" he joked._

"_As the narcissistic pain in the ass," Cuddy added. "Who doesn't give a damn what you think, do or say. But if you happen to get on his good side once in a while, you are an extremely lucky person."_

_He pursed his lips and blew out a lot of air. "That's harsh, Lisa. Especially for you." He pretended to look hurt._

"_The last part wasn't," she reminded him. "Your turn. How are you going to remember me?"_

"_Best ass and best set of twins this country's ever seen."_

"_Seriously!"_

_Greg was silent for a few seconds as he thought about it._

"_You've known me for a year and you can't think of anything not related to my ass!"_

_He ignored her and finally spoke his thoughts. "You know what you want, and you know how to get it. And you don't give a damn who is in the way. You're not afraid of a challenge and you'll work your ass off to get what you think is rightfully yours. Except for the day after exams. Then you go to the closest bar and practically dry hump the nearest--"_

"_Yeah, yeah, I get it," she said, cutting him off._

"_You're disappointed," he noticed._

"_I'm not--"_

"_Don't lie to me, you are. What did you want me to say? That you're a ray of sunshine? That you are the reason I wake up in the morning? That your smile lights up my day?"_

"_Oh God, no," Lisa said, obviously horrified looking up at him._

"_So what did you want me to say?" he asked her._

"_I don't know. I just don't see how me not being afraid of a challenge is a good thing. Well, I guess it is but--"_

"_I'll remember you as the girl that works too hard until you remind her to cool off. I'll remember that you're happiest when you're not doing anything that seems important – when you're just sitting down insulting your chemistry professor or talking about the last movie you saw. I'll remember how your face lights up when you tell me your exact plans once you're done with medical school. How your eyebrow jumps up angrily when I interrupt one of our conversations to answer the phone…"_

_The two of them were a mere breath away now and neither tried to separate that distance._

"_I'll remember you, Lisa. I'll remember everything."_

_Their lips met for the first and last time and Lisa leaned into him, pushing him back slightly until he was on his back. She ignored the small voice in the back of her head that told her she shouldn't be doing this and gently touched his face as his arms wrapped around her waist. _

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_Cuddy is asleep on the concrete floor. And House is on the other side of the room staring at her. He's in agony – he remembers this pain. Pain that radiates from his leg and throughout his entire body, chills, killer headache, he's sore all over. And the smell – the smell is even worse this time. The blood, the vomit, the sweat._

_He remembers this place. _

_And yet there she is, asleep as if in her own bed. He doesn't want to wake her. She's so peaceful where she is and if he wakes her, he'll be forced to see the fear in her eyes. _

"_I'm going to kill her this time, House."_

_House involuntarily flinches at the sound of Ethan's voice._

"_I can't get you, House. Every time I try, I fail. I can't kill you. But her--" House sees him aim and point his gun at Cuddy. "I can kill her. And if I kill her, I'd be killing you."_

_It's a dream. House knows it. It's a dream. It's not real. Ethan's not there. Wake up, damn it! Wake up! You don't need to be here, you don't need to hear this. Cuddy is asleep, she's fine. She'll always be fine. Ethan's not coming back, he's not going to kill her. _

_House hears the click of the gun._

"_If I kill her, I kill you – not physically, but I'll get to you. That's all I need."_

_It's not real. He knows it's not. But he can't help but try and stop it. "Stop! Don't kill her! Kill me! Kill me, instead! Try again, you'll do it, kill me! Shoot me, just don't hurt her, please…"_

_Ethan smiles. "But you see, even if I kill you, what's the fun in that? I kill you, you die, the end. I kill _her_ though, then you suffer for much longer…"_

_He's crying now. The salt from his tears burn the cuts on his face. "Please…"_

"_Sorry, House."_

_He fires. Cuddy doesn't even flinch, but he can see the blood seeping out of her chest. Usually, this is when he wakes up from the dream in a cold sweat, his heart racing as he tries to calm himself down. But he isn't waking up. He still sees the blood, hears the faint ringing of the gun even after it's been fired._

_Shit! Wake up, damn it! Get up!_

_It doesn't hurt him anymore. The bruises and cuts have miraculously healed, the pain gone – even the throbbing in his leg is now nonexistent. But he'd rather feel all the pain ten times over than be forced to see Cuddy lying in a pool of her own blood. _

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House and Cuddy were still on the couch as they dreamt. They hadn't bothered to get up. The food was on the table in front of them and she had fallen asleep with her head resting on his shoulder and his arm resting on the head of the couch just above her. As Cuddy dreamt, a small smile found itself on her face as the memory played in her mind. As House dreamt, a tight grimace formed on his lips as his face contorted in obvious pain; and even in the subconscious, he did everything within his power to keep from screaming.

**Kay. Hope you enjoyed it!!!! And PLEASE review! Okay? REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!!!!!**

**Oh, and Hilson will be coming up. Pinky promise. **

**but you have to REVIEW!!! REVIEW, REVIEW!!**

**:)**


	18. Chapter 18: Gravity

**Hey peeps! So I know everyone wants to see the Ethan-House confrontation. And before I build up your hopes, let me tell you it's not in this chapter. (All together now…AWWWWW!!!!) But it's coming up. **

Chapter 18

"I think my son has Liza Minnelli!" the woman yelled. She was in her late twenties and was holding a particularly annoying, screaming boy that had to be no younger than six.

House stared at her, hopelessly bored. "I never knew she discovered her own disease."

"What?" the woman asked as she put her son down, much to House's chagrin. Immediately, the boy tried to twist himself out of his mother's grasp and continued screaming.

House took a look at her file, knowing that anything that came out of this woman's mouth would be useless. "There is no disease called Liza Minnelli."

"Yes, there is!" she yelled above the boy's screaming. "He ate some uncooked chicken or something at a restaurant! Can you give him something?"

"So _salmonella_ found its home in that living petri dish of annoyance." House concluded. "Wonder where he gets the annoyance from."

"What?" she asked again.

"I wanna go home!!! I wanna go home, Mommy!!!" the boy continued screaming, still trying to free himself.

House angrily slammed the papers down on a table and stared the kid down. "If you don't shut up, I'll snap your nose off!"

Immediately the boy shut up and stared at him in absolute shock, his mouth half opened as if considering another scream session.

"Finally," House muttered, looking at the kid's chart again. "I can hear myself think."

"What is your problem?" the lady asked, holding her son tightly. "My kid has Liza Minnelli, can't you just give him something and get on it with it? You don't need to scream--"

"There's no such thing as Liza Minnelli!" House yelled frustrated. "Not unless she's an actress that's been married four times. Here's Ioperamide for the diarrhea and antibiotics for the _sal-mon-el-la_! And here's a form to file a complaint. Turn it in at the nurses' station." He handed her two prescriptions and a slip of paper and immediately popped a Vicodin dry and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Cuddy was waiting for him at the nurses' station where he dropped up the chart and sighed loudly. "This is harsh," he told her. "Even for you."

"Six of your patients have already filed complaints!" Cuddy said immediately.

"Make that seven," he interjected, remembering his latest patient.

"Another patient walked into my office to tell me that one of the doctors in the clinic was threatening a child. Care to explain that?"

"Kid wouldn't shut up," House defended as he signed off on treatment and handed one of the nurses the chart.

"So you threatened him?"

"I told him I'd snap his nose off," House said, finally looking at her. "That's not a _real_ threat. It's not like I'd _really_ snap his nose off…you wouldn't let me."

"You can't tell kids you're going to snap their noses off. I don't care how pissed off you are." She handed him another file.

"This better not be another kid," House said before taking the file.

"You're usually better with the kids."

"I'm ready to eliminate the entire species right now," House complained.

Cuddy allowed him to brood for a moment before continuing. "Weston has some more information if you want to talk to her."

The nurse that had taken the salmonella kid's file looked up at House, curiosity filling her eyes. The entire hospital knew about the event that had happened weeks ago between Ethan and House as well as Cuddy's involvement and it had been a hot gossip topic for weeks. The nurse that looked up at House obviously wanted to hear more but wasn't very subtle in her scheming. And she was new. Cuddy glanced back at her, trying to give her a hint to back off and when the nurse didn't take it, House glared at her and growled, baring his teeth. Immediately, the nurse grabbed the nearest file and pretended to be busy with something on the other side of the nurses' station.

"Was that necessary?" Cuddy whispered back, angrily.

"Nope," House answered. Looking through the file Cuddy had given him. "This guy's in the clinic? This actually looks interesting…"

"It's a new case. Thought I'd rescue you before you killed someone."

House smirked. "I knew you wouldn't leave me."

"Do you want to talk to Weston? She's on the line right now in my office."

"I get to use your phone?!" House gasped, feigning shock.

Cuddy pointed at her office. "Go!"

House rolled his eyes but limped towards Cuddy's office, Cuddy at his heels. He turned around slightly, still limping. "You plan on eavesdropping too?"

"Nope. I just need to make sure you don't try something funny in my office." Once they had reached her office doors, she waited outside as House walked in so that he could make his call in private and she could make sure he didn't write on her walls. She knew he wouldn't want her listening in and she wanted to prove herself.

"This is House," he answered, sticking out his tongue at Cuddy as he looked through her drawers.

"Dr. House, I've learnt that you are willing to take the deal and talk with Ethan?"

Straight to the point, House noticed, thankful. Small talk was pointless if there was a motive. "Lucky me."

"The police department has managed to set up a date…"

House caught the hesitation just before she completed her sentence. "It's in two weeks."

Even House was surprised. Two weeks? He'd only called her to tell her he'd do it a week ago. "Great," House said sarcastically, hoping it would mask the surprise. "Got anything more specific? Like a date?"

"Sunday, April the 15th. I'll call sometime next week to schedule a day where the two of us can discuss the ins and outs of the meeting and what the plan is."

The meeting? She made it sound like all he was doing was getting a cup of coffee and having a meaningless chat with a long lost relative. Yeah, right, he thought as he opened another drawer, his eyes flashing. Ooh…was that his tennis ball?

"Dr. House?" came the voice on the other end of the line.

"Still here…" he answered, examining the tennis ball. He had stolen it the other day from some kid who had been bouncing it on the glass walls of his office. And Cuddy had seized it from him when she had found him messing with it in the ER instead of helping out. He bounced it a few times on the doors to Cuddy's office just to get on her nerves.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" Weston asked.

He immediately stopped bouncing the ball. "Do you want me to talk to him…let's say…last week?" he asked.

"It's two weeks notice," Weston rationalized. "We didn't give you that much time to prepare and if it's _too_ short notice, I can move the date back. Are you sure you want to do this now?"

House started bouncing his ball again, but this time on one of the sheetrock walls so it wouldn't make as much noise. "I'd rather get this thing over with. April the 15th sounds good enough to me."

"Okay, then. Oh, and Dr. House, I have another question for you. Up until this point, Dr. Cuddy has been almost one hundred percent involved with your case. However, at this point, I cannot give her any more information as this now has virtually nothing to do with her. I can only give her such information if I have your permission."

Weston waited for that information to sink in. "My question is, do you want me to keep her informed, or would you rather reserve that right?"

House frowned, thinking but not yet answering. Weston's question was based off another – was House willing to trust her enough to give her that access? Or rather, was House willing to make himself vulnerable?

"Dr. House, if you need more time to answer feel free to call me--"

"I'll tell her what she needs to know," House answered quickly.

"That's fine," she answered, understanding what House really meant. "I'll be keeping you posted. Have a good one."

He hung up and made his way toward the doors, taking his ball with him.

"Give that back!" Cuddy demanded as she held out her hand, palm up.

"But it's my toy!"

"You stole it! From a kid!"

"A very annoying kid," House growled, sliding past her.

"What did Weston say?"

"That I work too hard; especially in the clinic. I deserve a break. For life."

"Seriously."

"I _am_ being serious. Death to clinic duty!"

"House," she said, tugging at his arm slightly once they reached the elevator. "What did she say?"

"April 15th," House said sighing as he pushed the elevator button with his cane. "That's when I talk to Ethan."

"That's in two weeks!" Cuddy said angrily. "You're okay with that?"

"Why? Is 15 an unlucky number? Damn…knew I should've asked for the 13th. And _that_ was even on a Friday…"

"It…seems kind of soon…" Cuddy thought aloud as the elevator doors opened. "Maybe…you should--"

"Not your decision!" he yelled as he walked into the elevator.

"But--"

"Not your decision!" he repeated slowly as the doors closed, separating him from Cuddy. He planned on visiting Wilson to brood, whine and eventually hear something he probably wouldn't want to hear but was important anyway. But he decided to make a pit stop at his office, considering the file in his hand.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"I can't believe--" House started as he opened the door to Wilson's office. His eyes flashed for a moment before continuing. "Cheesecake! Oh, Wilson. You try so hard to please me."

Without even giving it a second thought, he moved his plate toward the edge of the table, practically offering it to his friend. House gladly helped himself.

"You can't believe…" Wilson prompted, knowing that the sooner they had this conversation, the sooner he'd be out of there so he could finish the last of his paperwork and, hopefully, eat the rest of his cake.

"Cuddy's trying to murder me," House said instead.

Wilson thought for a while, trying to figure out what House meant. He smirked as it hit him. "Have fun at clinic duty today?"

House would have answered back swiftly and put him back in his place, but his mouth was full of cheesecake, so all he could mutter was, "Shut up."

"So how much grief did you cause today?"

"In all, six complaints, two of which barged into Cuddy's office and cussed her out, I threatened one really annoying kid, caused two 'accidental' hazardous waste spills and Brenda is missing her favorite box of paperclips."

"Brenda has a favorite box of paperclips?"

"Well…it might not be her favorite but she was definitely looking for it when I left the nurses' station."

"Okay…"

"And Blue took an unexpected week long vacation to the Bahamas."

"Blue?" Wilson asked.

House's eyes widened as he pretended to look surprised. "Blue the janitor!"

"Blue the…wait, is that the janitor that wears his pants backwards?"

House nodded as he took another bite. "And yet, Cuddy trusts the loon to clean her office."

"Wait, why is he taking a vacation? You didn't beat him with your cane did you?"

"Nope. I just sent him a note signed by Cuddy that he was being awarded a vacation…effective today. I am on a roll."

Wilson sat back in his chair as House finished the last of Wilson's cheesecake. "Congratulations," he said dryly.

"You don't _sound_ very happy for me," House pouted. "I guess I could have made Blue do something a lot more evil right before he left for the week…get him to move all the bodies from the morgue, maybe…"

"Again, congrats," Wilson said as he resumed his work.

"I'm not getting the 'congrats' vibe over here."

"You're making everyone's life hell which is stupid but there's no point in complaining. Well, I guess you practically creating an earthly hell could be considered a good thing. It means everything's reaching that comforting stage of normalcy. That's what you wanted, right?"

"I wanted the normalcy, without the clinic duty," House corrected as he flipped his fork into the nearest trash can. "Oh, and I'm having that meeting or whatever you want to call it with Ethan in two weeks."

Wilson blinked once, not sure if House was just pulling his leg to test his reaction. "That…just might mess with your whole normalcy plan."

"No, it won't."

"Yeah. It will. You think you're going to meet with your captor, who intended to murder you, and expect things to run just as they were? That maybe the two of you will catch up, get a cup of coffee--"

"Shut up."

Hesitantly, Wilson asked, "Are…you…serious? Do you actually want to see him?"

"Nope. I'm just a masochist."

"What does Cuddy think?"

House frowned at the question and he looked like he was ready to snap someone's neck in half. "Who cares what Cuddy thinks!" he yelled.

Wilson nodded very slowly, observing his best friend's reaction. "Interesting…"

"No, not _interesting_. _Annoying_."

"I asked a very simple question. And you were ready to bite my head off because of it. Which means something."

"Like what?" House asked sarcastically.

"I haven't figured that part out yet, that's usually your specialty. Wouldn't want to steal your spotlight."

House rolled his eyes. "Cuddy doesn't need to know _every_ little thing that happens to me."

"Of course. After all, you talking to your kidnapper is a very little thing."

"It's none of her business. It has nothing to do with her."

"Do you know why we open up to people?" Wilson asked.

House crinkled his nose and sniffed. "You smell that, Wilson? It smells like…a lecture…"

"We tell people things that may be none of their business because we trust them. Because we want to keep them updated and because we care about them and we don't want them to worry about us. We assume that it's their business because _their_ feelings matter. We care about them, ergo, our business is their business. Or at least part of it."

"Ah ha!" House said, snapping his fingers. "You said 'part of it'. Besides, I don't deserve this lecture. I already told Cuddy."

"So you made your business _her_ business because you care about her."

"That's a lame argument. Why do I even come here?"

"Because I have cheesecake," Wilson reminded him, noting that he didn't deny the fact that he cared about Cuddy.

"And lunch money," House added.

"It's nice to know our friendship has such a simple yet meaningful foundation. Have you picked out a tux yet?"

"A tux? What the hell for!"

"The fundraiser next week…I heard you were actually going to this one."

House grimaced. "I'm living in the dean of medicine's house. I don't have much choice."

"Are you…admitting defeat?"

"That may be true. But I also plan on carrying out my fair share of revenge."

"I heard Cuddy pulled a few strings and managed to set up a few poker tables for the night. Which will make it a lot more exciting than usual."

"Poker you say?" House said, suddenly interested. Cuddy hadn't mentioned that.

"Yeah. Does that mean you can lay off on the revenge?"

"Slightly. If I get to bring a hooker, who knows? Maybe I'll wipe her slate clean."

"You should lay off on her that night. There are going to be a few rich donors out there and…Cuddy will be _pissed_ if she doesn't get anything out of them or if you ruin it."

"Why would I do anything like that?" House smirked.

"Seriously. Play nice. Just for once."

"You people are so demanding. Finish your clinic duty, don't scare the donors…what's next? Banning porn?"

"God forbid," Wilson said sarcastically as House's pager went off.

"Damn," House muttered as he stood up. Patient saving time.

"See you later," Wilson said.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House left the hospital a little after six that night despite his patient's rapid decline. He knew if something important happened one of fellows on his team would contact him – they seemed to be pretty good at that. So instead of waiting for Wilson to accidentally leave his wallet on his desk so he could steal some money and get a snack from the cafeteria, he drove to his apartment to find where he had thrown his tux. He needed to send it to the dry cleaners before the fundraiser.

He hadn't been in his apartment in weeks and was looking forward to some time alone without being given the third degree. His apartment was _his_ space, _his_ haven, his little bubble in the world that wasn't all that joyful but was still his.

Once inside, he threw his jacket on the couch closest to the door. He paused for a moment, a memory coming back – he had left his coat, his cane and his Vicodin on that couch the day Ethan had made his… 'visit'. Subconsciously he lifted up his jacket again and threw it on a different chair. He limped towards his room and pressed the voicemail button on the telephone in his room, mostly out of curiosity. Plus, he could laugh at the stupid things people said while he looked for his tux.

The first one was from Wilson. "_I don't know why I even bother leaving messages but your team's trying to find out so get your lazy ass out of the couch and get over here. Oh, and Cuddy wanted me to pass down the message – she's still pissed at you about her date with that Dave guy…Don…whatever his name was._"

So the new messages was about a month old - the failed date event.

"_House, it's me_." This was one was from Cuddy and House's ears immediately perked up. She never called his home number unless it was important. "_Pick up…Now…I know about Chase doing your clinic duty….I'm only wearing underwear…" _

House smirked, pulling out his white dress shirt and throwing it on the bed. When did she leave _this_ message? He definitely would've picked up. Oh, look…his bow tie… Cuddy's message continued after a beat. "_Okay, I guess you're not really there but...I've got a case for you so you need to pick up now. I'll call your cell."_

Liar. Even on an answering machine he could tell. She just wanted to call him about her failed date. Probably to be the bigger person. Where had _he_ been?

It hit him like a ton of bricks and he felt like an idiot for forgetting. He had been stuck in the back of a van on his way to his death bed when Cuddy had left that message. She had probably called to apologize or say that she was willing to drop the event and forget that it had ever happened. She had no idea her date with Don would be completely meaningless in less than twenty four hours. She had no idea where he would be in a single day. Damn.

"_It's Wilson…where are you? I've got a case…and it's fake cancer. No, I'm not going to explain. Not until you get to work. And no, it's not a scheme I put together to make you come to work. It's real_."

While House was suffering through a one-man version of World War III on the pain scale, Wilson was at work. Everything was running normally. Wilson had found him a case. House would've insulted him, taken it anyway and found out it was interesting and pay him back by stealing his food. He'd get a few kicks, a few laughs…

"_House! Where are you? Everyone's worried. Call me back."_

It didn't seem to have taken them long to figure out something was up. Where was he when Wilson had left this message? It was the next day, he had been in that basement overnight. He was feeling like shit, probably puking by now, detoxing…

"_I'm coming over now. Are you there? Pick up, dammit! Fine, don't but if you're doing this on purpose you should know that Cuddy's beating herself after what she said yesterday."_

"_House, if you're trying to prove a point, it's not funny." _It was Cuddy – and she sounded worried and angry at the same time.

"_House, it's me." _Cuddy again. And he could easily hear the worry pouring from her mouth. It sounded like she had been crying. _"Where are you? Wilson already stopped by and said you're not there but…if you get this message, please call back. Okay?"_

House didn't even realize he had stopped looking for his tuxedo and was standing in front of the phone. Cuddy must have been killing herself after realizing he was truly missing, especially after their argument just the day before. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve to worry like that.

"_It' me…again…I don't know why I'm calling because that son of a bitch just said he has…you…Don't do anything stupid, please…we still need you around here…_I_ need you around here…okay? I didn't mean what I said…God, this is ridiculous," _she muttered through tears. _"I'm sorry."_

"_It's Wilson. Just making sure you haven't killed Cuddy yet. Heard she's staying at your place instead of the other way around. And what's up with your cell phone? No one can reach it."_

A few more messages followed in this pattern – things had obviously gone back to semi-normal by now. House was still on his feet, staring down at the machine as if it was a monster with horn and fangs. It might as well have been. He listened to the remaining messages that were useless at this point – until he reached the last one.

"_Hello, Dr. House. Miss me?"_

He recognized that voice. He hadn't heard it in a month but the same melancholy, sadistic tone was enough to send chills down his spine. Dread filled his entire being and he felt as if he was standing behind him now, holding the gun in his hand.

"_I honestly hope you haven't forgotten me. I still remember you after all and I heard you wanted to talk to me some time later this month…the 18__th__, I believe?"_

Ethan was supposed to be in goddamn prison. They had lost him. The goddamn police department didn't even know the man was missing and was busy communicating with his previous hostage. How else would he have been able to leave a message, let alone call someone?

"_There's no need to worry. I'm still in prison. I just know how to get the things I need. Phones for example. I also have these tapes that I managed to sneak in thanks to a few inside friends. I'm sure you'd love to hear them. Enjoy."_

The message stopped for a moment, whirring, and for a second, House thought that was it. He was breathing heavily as if he was scared he wouldn't be able to take in another breath and though he was freezing, sweat was piling on his brow.

A few seconds later, he realized that the whirring had been the tape fast forwarding. He heard a quiet click, and the tape began.

The first thing he heard was a horrible, blood curling scream and at first, House didn't get it. Then he realized that that was him on the tape – he was the one screaming bloody murder and Ethan was yelling at him.

"_You know why Cuddy won't fire you. Because this is what she sees. The helpless cripple. She feels sorry for you; she feels guilty. You hate that, but it's better than what your dad did to you, right? Your dad hated you…he still hates you and after the infarction, all he saw was his cripple failure. You never did anything right, so he'd punish you, push you…"_

His screams had ceased for now and were replaced by his moans and gasps of pain.

Ethan had taped the entire thing. The bastard had taped everything that had happened in that basement. He wanted House to know that even though Ethan was in prison, he still had the upper hand, he was still the man in charge…he still had power over him.

The House on the tape wasn't screaming now…he was doing something else…whispering? Wheezing? No, that's not it…he wasn't breathing. Ethan was choking him now on the tape.

"_How bad does this hurt, House? I'm killing you, House."_

He was back there again, and he couldn't breathe. Ethan's hands were wrapped around his throat and he couldn't even gasp for a breath without feeling lightheaded. He was fading…

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy opened the door to her house at nine thirty, expecting to see House lying on her couch watching his soap or fumbling through her kitchen looking for something to eat. He had left the hospital at six and she had assumed he had just gone to her home. Instead, it was eerily quiet. Immediately, she suspected some damage had been done. Had he blown up part of the house? He _had_ threatened to do that if he was forced to do clinic duty…

"House?" she called out, frowning a little as she dropped her purse on the table. She didn't try following him around all the time anymore – he could take care of himself. She had learned the hard way to back off once in a while. But still, three and a half hours was long enough…where could he be? If he was with Wilson, Wilson would've called her. He wasn't at the hospital.

She sighed, immediately guessing where he was. He'd be at his own apartment. Maybe he was looking for his tux. He _did_ say he needed to go pick it up.

She sighed loudly and picked up her purse from the table and made her way out the door again.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"House, are you in here?" she called out again once in his apartment. "I know you are, your bike is outside and I don't feel like playing hide and seek. Did you find your tux?"

She heard some muffled sounds in his bedroom. The door was half opened so she guessed he was in there, but as she approached the door, she realized it sounded more like he was watching a movie.

"You better not be watching porn in there," she grumbled as she opened the door.

"Oh, God…!" Cuddy exclaimed before running up to House. He was sitting on the floor his back against the wall in the corner of the room. His blue eyes were unfocused and staring off into space and his face was completely without expression. It looked like he was asleep with his eyes open. Was he unconscious?

"House, can you hear me?"

He continued to stare past Cuddy, without even making a single movement. She fished around her purse for her flashlight and tested the reactivity of his eyes – they were fine. If it was an absence seizure it should have ended already. Had he been like this for hours?

"_Stop it! Stop it, you bastard!"_

Cuddy whirled around at the voice – it was hers and it was coming from the telephone next to his bed.

"_Let her go, damn it."_ It was House's voice now coming from the phone but he sounded beaten, emotionally and physically. What was this?

"_I'll shoot you right now if you think…"_

"_Kill me. Kill me now."_ Cuddy's breath caught in her chest as she realized that the message on the phone was a tape of everything that had happened in the basement. Right now it was Ethan, Cuddy and House on the tape.

"_House, please…"_

"_Shoot me…shoot me …"_

"_Stop it!"_

"_Cuddy, go…please…"_

"_That wasn't so hard was it? That's all you needed to do before…tell me to kill you and I would have ended it long ago."_

"_Please, House…don't leave me…please…"_

"_So this is it, House? This is how the medical genius known as Gregory House died. Alone, with his captor, begging for death…"_

Cuddy was trying to erase the message, or at least switch off the phone – something. How long had the tape been playing? Hours? Is this what he had been doing for the last three hours? Reliving the worst hours of his life here in his bedroom in this near catatonic state? How the hell did this even end up on his phone?!?

"_Stop it!" _

"_Lisa…" _

"_Goodbye, House."_

Cuddy gave up on the phone and yanked the cord from the outlet but not before Ethan on the tape fired the nearly fatal shot. The sound echoed throughout the apartment, louder than any of the other noises that had escaped the telephone and sent a shiver down her spine. Hesitantly, she turned towards House who was still sitting down in the same position, but there was now emotion on his face. He was frowning slightly and had a disgusted look on his face mixed with pain, horror and fear.

"House, he's not here. It's just me. Can you hear me?"

House didn't do anything for a moment. Then he slowly nodded. It looked more like an involuntary jerk of his head but it was enough for her.

"Do you want to go to my place?"

He shook his head, this time the movement was a little more defined though most wouldn't consider it a voluntary action.

"I'm going to get you some--"

"Don't leave," he whispered, his lips barely moving. His eyes were still staring off into space.

Cuddy nodded, understanding and sat next to him on the floor. "Okay…okay…"

She was angry. House didn't need to go through this again. The memory was already haunting him as well as memories of his childhood. Every time he seemed to find a modicum of normalcy or a familiar foundation, the rug was pulled out of him. It was almost as if he was doomed to misery. It wasn't fair.

And then there was the fact he was going to see Ethan in two weeks. How would he handle it? Could he handle it? Oh, God, she hoped so, because she highly doubted House would back down. He couldn't do this by himself– handle all the memories and continue with everyday life. And Cuddy wasn't so sure if she and Wilson's help was enough anymore.

She sighed looking over at him. He looked exhausted…and about ready to sleep. His leg would kill him in the morning if he stayed in this position all night and she wasn't sure she could move him to his bed by himself.

Sleep took over House in a few short minutes and when it had, she took out her phone and dialed Wilson's number.

"Wilson, it's Cuddy. Can you come over?"

**End of this chapter! Hope you liked it!**

**So guys…any suggestions? For the fundraiser? For the Ethan and House confrontation? For what should happen next perhaps? Wishes? Hopes? Dreams? Cravings of chocolate ice cream? Nah, I'm just kidding about the last one but seriously…**

**REVIEW!!!! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!!!! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!** **REVIEW!!!! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!**

:)


	19. Chapter 19: You Are Not Alone

**I still don't own House…lol…Enjoy!**

**Chapter 19**

"_Wilson, it's Cuddy. Can you come over?"_

"What's the 911?" Wilson asked once inside House's apartment. Cuddy hadn't told him anything that had happened – only asking him to come over as soon as possible. It had taken him less than five minutes to get here.

"Hi, sorry, were you busy?" Cuddy asked, letting him in. Her hair was tied up but she still looked like a mess.

"No, I'm fine. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"_I'm_ fine," Cuddy answered. She motioned towards House's room. "I need help."

"Uh…okay…" he said, following her to the bedroom, not sure what to find in there. He definitely wasn't prepared for what he was about to see.

"House…?" he asked quickly walking up to him. He bent down to take a better look at him, not sure if he was even awake. His eyes were open but they weren't focused on anything in particular. He looked like he had given up.

"Can you help me lift him up…I can't do it by myself," Cuddy said trying not to make eye contact. He could tell she was trying not to cry, to stay strong…at least for House. Was he awake, then? Wilson didn't say anything as he stood by House's left side and quickly lifted him up. Cuddy stood on his other side and did the same. "House…we need you to help us out." She told him, knowing that the two of them couldn't just drag him over to his bed.

Wilson didn't expect him to do anything. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he was completely conscious. But House had obviously heard what Cuddy had asked of him and managed to stand on his own two feet as Wilson and Cuddy helped him over to his bed.

"What happened…?" Wilson asked Cuddy, still in a daze, once they were out of his room. But Cuddy shushed him quietly as she closed the door behind them. She stood there for a moment, leaning on the closed door as the tears she had been holding in flowed down without restraint.

"Cuddy, what happened? What is going on?" he asked again a little forcefully. He knew he should probably give her time to compose herself but the worry was eating at him too now. What wasn't she telling him?

"He…uh…" she motioned toward the living room so their discussion wouldn't disturb House.

"I got home about…ten, fifteen minutes ago," she started once they were both seated. "House wasn't there so I guessed he'd be here instead. When I came over, he was sitting down in the corner just like that. He was conscious but his mind was somewhere else completely." She wiped a few tears from her face before continuing. "He was listening to a tape of everything that had happened in the basement with Ethan."

"A…tape?" Wilson asked. "Where did he get a tape?"

"He was listening to his messages on his phone and apparently, Ethan called him to tell him that he had recorded everything that had happened and decided to prove it by playing the full tape. For the last three hours, House has been relieving the worst two days of his life."

Wilson allowed this information to sink in, still having trouble wrapping his head around it. "Ethan _called_ him? When was this? How did he get a phone? Or a tape?"

"I don't know, Wilson!" Cuddy yelled angrily. Then remembering House was trying to sleep, she lowered her voice. "I don't know how any of this happened. It isn't right and it isn't fair. He doesn't deserve to go through any of this anymore. Every time it looks like things are looking up something else happens and he's reminded that everything sucks. Like this…"

"Did you erase the message?" Wilson asked quickly.

"No. I just pulled the plug from the outlet. Why?"

"Because you need to call the police and tell them about this. They need to know so they can take care of it. We don't know how Ethan got hold of a phone to begin with and who he conned into slipping the tape to him. We don't even know if the police know he _made_ a tape."

"I know...I'll call Weston first thing tomorrow morning." Cuddy held her head in her hands. "I can't believe Ethan did that to him. I keep imagining what House was going through, listening to that tape." She shook her head slightly. "I don't know if we can do this, Wilson."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe we're not enough," she said, thinking out loud. "What we're doing isn't working anymore..."

"Cuddy, he needs you now, you can't just give up--"

"I'm not giving up. I just don't know if we're enough anymore. Maybe…he should see someone else…?"

"A psychiatrist?" Wilson suggested, putting a word to Cuddy's description.

"He wouldn't see a shrink, not even if I paid him to," she admitted. "It would be admitting that everything's getting _worse_, not better. For him it would be like admitting failure."

"Seeing a psychiatrist is not admitting failure. It's admitting that he's willing to try whatever he can to get better."

"Oh, yeah. That's exactly what he's going to think." More tears escaped the corner of her eyes as she finally admitted what she really felt. "I failed."

"Cuddy, don't say that. You didn't. You've helped him come this far--"

"But what I did obviously wasn't enough!"

"You're not the one that taped everything that happened and forced him to listen to it. That wasn't you."

"But I should've been able to help--"

"You _are_ helping. He's been talking to you, opening up…those aren't small things for House. But seeing a psychiatrist might be good for him. That _does not_ mean you failed him. Without being there for him he probably would've gone insane."

Cuddy bit her bottom lip, obviously not convinced. "There's no way he can see Ethan on the 18th. He's not ready."

Wilson sighed loudly. "I know. I just don't know how we're going to convince him not to. He's not going to back down, that would be admitting defeat."

"We could convince him to at least postpone the date," Cuddy suggested. "He'll never agree…"

"He just might."

"What makes you say that?"

"He…listens to you."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "No, he doesn't. He never listens to me. He never does his clinic duty – he only did it today and I received so many complaints, I'm sure he hit a new record. He doesn't help out in the ER, he ignores consults--"

"I don't mean at the hospital…I don't mean to be a pessimist but I doubt that's ever going to happen. I mean he listens to you when it matters." When he noticed Cuddy's eyebrow rise up skeptically he quickly added, "He honestly does. By sticking with him this long you've been proving your trust and he takes your opinion into consideration."

"Yeah, right. Like when I said he shouldn't see, Ethan? He decided to call Weston that day and tell her his decision."

"I said he would consider your opinion, not be your yes-man. That's not House." He leaned forward slightly in order to drive his next point home. "When we were in that room with him right now, I couldn't even tell if he was conscious. I thought he passed out or something and if I was in that state, I wouldn't listen to a single word you said. But when you told him that you needed him to help us out to take him over to his bed, he did listen to you, and he did try. I don't know what type of…bond the two of you managed to forge but he does listen to you. He does trust you."

Cuddy thought about it. Yes, the last few weeks had been…overwhelming, to say the least. Challenging, irritating, ridiculous, entertaining, funny, heart wrenching and everything in between and without even realizing it, the two of them _had_ forged some sort of twisted, semi-psychotic, but understandable and relatable bond. She wasn't sure if it was just part of their growing friendship or something else, but she didn't dwell on the idea for too long.

"You're realizing it now, aren't you?" Wilson said.

"I guess we've become…closer, for lack of a better word. I just never thought about it…"

"You like that, though," he continued, trying to read her expression. "You do like that you're now more like friends. Not annoying boss, annoying employee, although I'm sure he considered you a friend long before you did."

"That's not true!" Cuddy said immediately, trying to defend herself. "In fact, I doubt he considered me anything more than the annoying she-devil that had to put him in line on a daily basis."

Wilson laughed a little, "True. But he always knew that if he ever really needed you, you'd be there for him."

Cuddy didn't say anything, knowing that the reverse was true as well. She knew he could trust _him_ if she ever needed to. She had trusted him with the IVF and he hadn't said a single word about it to anyone – including Wilson.

"So now what?" Wilson asked, referring to everything that had happened that night.

"Now…we wait," Cuddy decided. "We'll talk to House tomorrow morning and… oh, crap, Wilson, are you sure you weren't busy when I called? I didn't even think that you might be in the middle of something--"

"No, it's fine," Wilson reassured her. "I wasn't doing anything when you called. And I'm glad you did."

Cuddy stood up. "Okay. I'm going to go get a few blankets and pillows from the closet. And thank you…so much for coming over."

Wilson nodded, still worried for his friend and his improvement. "I'll come by in the morning and watch him over the day."

"No, it's okay, I can--"

"You have an entire hospital to run and I can always get someone to cover my appointments and follow-ups. I promise, I'll be a good babysitter, I won't let him eat too much ice cream, I won't let him have any fun--"

Cuddy laughed, finally cracking a smile for the first time that night. "Those would be my terms."

Wilson was content enough just to see a smile on her face. He stood up and made his way toward the door, Cuddy at his heels to see him off. "Goodnight, Wilson."

"Goodnight, Cuddy."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy woke up to slight poking on her shoulder. Her eyes slowly cracked open the next morning, wondering who was doing the poking.

It was Wilson and he looked sheepish. "Sorry. I would've let you sleep but it's kinda late…"

"What time is it?" she asked, trying to wake herself up.

"Ten thirty," he answered, pointing to his head.

"Ten thirty!" she exclaimed, ignoring his hand gestures. "I never wake up so late. I take it House is still asleep."

Again, Wilson pointed at his forehead and Cuddy reached up to touch her own. A slip of paper fell onto her lap – it was a small post-it note and she turned it around to see what it said.

_At yours._

Underneath the two word note was a triangle on top of a square and inside the square, windows and a door. Cuddy would've laughed had she been in the mood.

"Funny," Cuddy said dryly.

"I never knew you two exchanged notes now," Wilson said, grinning boyishly. "You're like an old couple."

"Funny," Cuddy repeated, this time adding some annoyance to her voice she got up and made her way to the bathroom to clean herself up.

"Do you want me to go over to his place and pick him up?" Wilson asked.

"No, I'll go. I need to get some clothes for work anyway."

"I'll be here," Wilson said, switching on the television now that he had the chance. As soon as House was back, he wouldn't even be able to touch the remote, let alone change channels.

Besides, it was better this way for one person to talk to him at a time. If both of them confronted him at once, he'd get on the defensive and neither of them would get anywhere.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House was asleep on her couch when Cuddy walked in. She sighed and threw her things on the table and slammed the door loudly. He jumped up a little, turning slightly to see who had made the noise.

"I hope you don't expect me to play tag every day. I can't drive around town trying to find you every other night."

"I left a note," House whined, closing his eyes to fall asleep. "Besides, you don't leave clues in tag…that's more like a treasure hunt."

"And you're the treasure?" Cuddy asked slightly amused. "Why are you even here?"

"I already told you," House mumbled groggily. "Blue states..monkeys…"

"Why did you choose to stay here if you were already at your apartment?" she rephrased.

"Couldn't sleep in my room," he admitted.

Cuddy stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him. He opened his eyes and for the first time made eye contact with her. Then he turned around and closed his eyes again.

"Did you get any sleep here?" she asked.

"No," he said aggressively.

"You okay?"

"Absolutely," he said animatedly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

She sat down in a chair next to him. "Why were you listening to that tape?" she asked quietly.

"Trying to sleep here," he sang.

"No, you're trying to deflect."

"Same thing."

"Why were you listening to that?" she repeated.

"Oh, God," House muttered. "Can't I at least get the 'are you okay' lecture first?"

"You can't just write this off. You didn't need to be listening to that tape and I have no idea why you decided to do something like that. What were you trying to do, punish yourself? What were you trying to prove?"

"I wasn't trying to prove anything…"

"Stop it!" House yelled suddenly, shutting her up. "Stop trying to psychoanalyze everything I do. That's my specialty and I don't believe in sharing."

"I'm not trying to psychoanalyze you. I'm worried."

"You can also stop trying to make this about _you_. No need to host a pity party only to find you're the only guest."

"I'm not making this about me!" Cuddy yelled.

"Yes, you are."

"I'm asking _you_ a question. I want to know why you thought you deserved to listen to that tape."

House didn't answer her.

"You always have a reason for whatever you decide to do. The thing is, you'll want to do something crazy, stupid, necessary or a combination of the three, but you'll always have a good reason. Always. I don't know what reason you managed to fabricate that justified putting yourself through that. Curiosity? No, because there's nothing to be curious about – you were there."

Again, House remained silent and Cuddy, giving up, stood up and made her way to the kitchen. She needed some chocolate.

"I wanted to hate him," she heard House finally say.

"What, you thought he was a decent human being before?" she said, abruptly ending her search for chocolate. She walked back to the living room and took a seat.

"I wanted to hate him more."

"How could you possibly hate him any more?"

"Well, obviously I had to. I've been thinking about cancelling that meeting with Ethan."

_Wow_, Cuddy thought. "Really?" she said, trying to portray a sense of cluelessness.

"Shut up, that's what you want," House answered, reading right through her charade. "But _I_ don't want to cancel. If I cancel, then that idiotic maniac has the illusion that he's in charge. That's what he's trying to prove."

"I think…he wants you to _go_ to the meeting, not decline it. If you go, you did what he _wanted_ which would prove _his_ point."

"Shut up," House repeated. "I go, then his psychotic illusion of control is eliminated. _That's_ the point. But...I've been reconsidering."

"So, you're genius plan was to torture yourself more so you'd hate him more?"

"I thought it was a good idea."

"Are you insane?" Cuddy yelled jumping out of her seat instantly. Even House was startled. "You and your…of all the self destructive, stupid--"

"What? It's not like I tortured _you_."

"The fact that you resorted to torturing _yourself_, is insane, House! If you didn't want to see him why didn't you tell me? Or Wilson?"

"Because you people would have convinced me to not go at all."

"No, we wouldn't! We would've convinced you to postpone the date."

"I don't want to postpone the date."

She laughed covering her face with her hands, exhausted and completely out of arguments. It was an 'I give up' type of laugh. "What are you, a third grader? So to prove to a psychopath that he doesn't control you, you went out of your way to scare the shit out of yourself so you could see the psychopath, in effect, proving he doesn't control you. In what world does that make sense?!"

"I'm not scared."

"So what was making you reconsider?" Cuddy pressed.

House sighed loudly. "I…was having doubts…"

She sat back down, the anger draining. "It's perfectly normal to have doubts." House opened his mouth about to argue but Cuddy quickly interrupted, "And yes, I am aware you are convinced you're not normal. But whether or not you believe it, you are still _human_. Fear and doubt are human emotions and to take care of them, you don't put yourself through unnecessary torture. You can talk to someone."

"I know where this conversation is going," House blurted. "I'm _not_ seeing a shrink."

"Fine. But at least talk to me or Wilson."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?…You were going to honestly suggest I see a shrink?" When Cuddy simply shrugged, House squinted, an annoying look on his face. "It's like you people don't even know me anymore."

"I don't care right now if you see one or not."

"Do you think I should?"

"You want my opinion?"

"If I didn't, then my question would be pointless."

"I think…it's your decision."

"That's a wimpy answer," House lashed out.

"Fine. I think if you would tell us your crazy plans of self inflicted pain before you carried them out, you'd give me less reason to contemplate the subject of a psychiatrist. How's that answer?"

"Slightly more accurate, but you still avoided the question. Do you think I should see a shrink?"

"Why do you want my opinion so badly? You usually burn my ideas at a stake."

"Because…you're not giving me an answer, which means whatever answer you give me should be interesting."

True, but it was still a deflection. There was another reason. She remembered what Wilson had said about House now listening to her and keeping her opinion in mind. Was that was this really was?

"Yes," she finally answered. "I think you should. Interesting enough or should I provide additional explanation to throw you a few more puzzle pieces?"

"Surprise me," House said instead.

"If there's anything you don't want me or Wilson to know then you can tell the psychiatrist. I think she…or he…will help. I know there's a lot you haven't told either of us and seeing a psychiatrist shows that you're willing to do anything to get over this…you know, as opposed to self inflicted torture."

House was silent for about two seconds, thinking about it. "Forget it."

"Fine."

"Is that an angry, frustrated fine or a 'I'm going to prove I'm not a controlling administrator' fine or a 'I honestly don't give a crap' fine?"

"What was the second one?"

"The controlling administrator."

"Yeah, then that one," Cuddy said sarcastically. "I'm going to take a shower."

"I already did before you got here. Aren't you proud of me?"

"Who wouldn't be?" Cuddy said lazily, dragging her feet up the stairs. Trying to convince this man to do or not do anything was so exhausting. "I'm going to work and you're staying at _your_ apartment."

"You _still_ don't trust me?"

"No."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House wasn't expecting to see Wilson sitting on his couch helping himself to cereal and watching T.V. The first thing he asked when House walked in was, "You okay?"

And the first thing that came out of House's mouth in response was, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came by last night…"

"Let me rephrase that. What the hell are you _still_ doing here?"

"He's playing baby sitter," Cuddy said, still at the door. "Bye!" And with that, she quickly locked the door behind her to avoid any additional confrontation or argument.

House frowned but sat next to him, grabbing the remote. About a minute after Cuddy had left he said, "Have you ever seen one of the evil baby-sitter movies?"

"I'm surprised _you_ have."

"Everyone thinks the sitter is evil. What everyone _doesn't_ know, is that the kid she's looking after is a million times _more_ evil. And by the time the night is over, said sitter is weeping in a corner scarred for life and the kid is eating ice cream out of the tub and watching T.V at three o'clock in the morning. Mom comes home, sitter gets fired, a new sitter is hired, and the circle of life continues." He leaned a little closer to Wilson. "Do you _really_ want to be the scarred for life sitter?"

"You've already scarred me for life. Multiple times."

"I can be evil."

"You are evil."

"I can be _super_ evil. I can reach magnitudes of evil you didn't think were attainable by man."

"Forget it. I promised Cuddy no ice cream, and no T.V at three o'clock in the morning. No fun, whatsoever."

"Keep fooling yourself. The evil kid the babysitter looks after always wins. Especially when that super evil kid is me."

"I'll…take my chances," Wilson decided. "So I take it you and Cuddy talked."

House had a sudden urge to use his cane to tip the bowl of cereal Wilson was eating on his lap, but decided against it as he'd probably be the one who'd end up cleaning it.

"I take your silence as a yes? I also take your silence as you plotting something evil against me."

"You're really good."

"I try," Wilson said simply, shrugging, eyeing him. "So…how'd it go…?"

"My plotting? Well, you keep interrupting me so I'm not getting anywhere."

Wilson made his 'I'm-not-kidding' face. Deflection time was over.

"I…allegedly claimed to express feelings of doubt concerning seeing Ethan in two weeks and Cuddy twisted my words and called me a scared chicken."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm telling the story!" House pouted.

Wilson sighed and waved his hand, gesturing for him to continue.

"So…do you want to see him or not?" Wilson asked.

"Yes."

"No, you don't."

"See, now you're doing it…twisting my words. Except you're doing a sucky job because you're also inventing words that didn't even come out of my mouth. I explicitly said 'yes'."

"You do know it's normal to not want to see the guy who tried to kill you in extremely terrifying ways. The man's psychotic. But if you want to see him to get some sort of closure or to prove a point to yourself then go for it."

"I can go if I want to prove a point? That's a different approach. Cuddy would probably hang you by your toes if she knew you told me that."

"If you want to prove a point to _yourself_. I get it. You want to go to have the knowledge and satisfaction that you could do it and he couldn't stop you. It's a control-confrontation thing. It makes sense, and in that case, I'd probably go too."

"Cuddy's going to hang you when she finds out you're talking me into it."

"I'm not talking you into it. You _want_ to go. There's no persuasion necessary. And who says Cuddy's going to find out?"

"I could tell her."

"No, you won't," Wilson said simply. "But if you can't handle seeing Ethan anytime soon, then move the date, don't cancel it."

House sat back, intently studying his friend. "You're manipulating me."

Wilson dropped his spoon. "How the hell am I--"

"You don't want me to go--"

"What I want doesn't matter! It has nothing to do with me. You tell any guy on the street what happened to you they'll tell you that you're being an idiot for going. But if the same thing happened to them they'd sign up for the meeting themselves. Everyone would have that…urge to confront the guy who did that to them. It's about confrontation, and he's not confronting me."

"Hmm…" House hummed in contemplation.

"House, I am not manipulating you. If you want to see him, see him. If you don't think you're ready, then push back the date. Which brings me to another subject. What the hell was the crazy listening to the tape stunt?"

"I told you I was having doubts," House said, as if that explained everything. "So to get rid of the doubts…"

"You listened to the tape so you'd be pissed and hoped that that was all you needed to eliminate your doubt. Well, my friendly masochist, did it work?"

House's silence this time obviously meant no.

"Surprise, surprise. Why do you pull stupid stunts like that and expect them to work?"

"Because they usually do!"

"Communicate, House! Don't cut your wrists and mess with the people around you."

House raised an eyebrow.

Wilson sighed. "Cuddy was worried about you last night. You were practically in a catatonic state and she felt like it was her fault."

"She would."

"I know she would. She's Cuddy, something goes wrong, she'll manage to pin at least some of the blame on herself. She was scared, she was worried…I thought she was going to break down. She cares, House."

"I know," House sighed, thinking to himself. She cared and he had pulled some crazy stunt in response. No wonder she was so pissed off about it.

"Are you…worried?" Wilson asked carefully.

House was about to say something when his phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket grudgingly, "What!" he yelled.

Foreman answered after a short moment. "What are you doing?"

"Your mom. Don't tell your dad."

"Fifty-nine year old female with multiple seizures. She came in with a motion sickness patch on but the seizures continued even after she was taken off. And now her right eye is blind. It's got to be neurological."

"Says the neurologist. Where's Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber?" Meanwhile, Wilson tried to take the remote on House's side of the couch but House quickly slapped his hand away.

"Here," Cameron and Chase answered simultaneously.

"I assume you two checked the home?"

"Yeah," Chase answered.

"Good. Now let me rephrase. I assume you two _claimed_ to have checked the home?"

"No…" Cameron said slowly. "We checked the home for toxins, fungus, anything--"

"A fungus wouldn't cause any of the symptoms, Tweedle Dumber."

"We checked the home. It was a waste of time."

"Having sex and checking the home or two very different physical processes."

"Do you really think we ditched the home to have sex?"

"No," House put his phone on speaker to let Wilson listen. "I think you were at the patient's home and had sex."

Both Cameron and Chase were silent and even Wilson had stopped trying to steal the remote. This was so much more interesting than whatever was on T.V.

"Seriously?" Wilson and Foreman asked at the same time.

"I give this relationship two weeks before it blows up in my face," House announced.

"It's not a relationship!" Cameron defended. "It's just harmless sex. That never killed anyone."

"Tell that to my last hooker."

"Besides, we've already been at it for two weeks," Chase boasted.

"No you haven't. You've been at it for only one. I'm giving you an additional wees before you realize your fake relationship--"

"I give them two weeks," Foreman announced.

"Wanna bet?" House challenged

"Fifty bucks says in about two weeks they're going to stop agreeing on everything and start ripping each other's throats."

"Are you betting on our relationship?" Cameron said angrily.

"Fake relationship," House corrected. "And we're doing it in front of you. The stakes are high and the suspense is thrilling. I accept the bet."

"Uh…don't you have a dying patient?" Wilson brought up.

"Killjoy," House told him.

"She's been travelling and has an interesting story," Foreman started. "Went to Caracas earlier this year, drank the water, ate the salads, the raw foods, snorted cocaine and had unprotected sex."

"Cameron?" House asked, not very skeptically.

"The patient," Chase corrected.

"What you don't believe Cameron can do that?" House asked him.

Chase ignored him and continued. "We did a tox screen, chem. 20 STD panel, blood cultures, CT…but everything either came up negative."

"She came negative for tumors, her blood was negative for drugs, heavy metals, tropical disease, food poisoning--" Foreman started.

"Yeah. I got that from 'everything came back negative'. You want me to call you Tweedle Dee the Second?"

"It…could be breast cancer," Wilson said, thinking out loud.

"Did I say you were part of the differential? And since when did breast cancer cause blindness?"

"Her brain is shutting down because of intracranial pressure," Foreman suggested.

"Or her nerves are dying," Cameron said instead.

"_Because_ of the pressure. She might have a bleed in her brain."

Chase didn't agree. "The CT didn't show--"

"Any tumors," Foreman interrupted. "But if she has an AVM leading to a cerebral hemorrhage we could've missed it."

"So your plan is to drill into her brain because of an invisible bleed the CT couldn't see? We should do an LP to confirm. Chase, what do you think?"

"Here's a cliffhanger," Foreman and House said simultaneously. House continued, "Don't ask Chase. He wouldn't want to lose his pass to the land of the unknown. Drill a hole into the woman's head."

"You should play safe," Wilson suggested. "Do the LP first."

"In case, you haven't been paying attention, the only reason two people seem to agree is if they're sleeping with each other. And that's exactly something Cuddy would say. It does raise questions. Just how close are you to the she-devil?"

"Jealous?" Wilson asked, mostly to see House's response.

"You know you should do the LP first," Cameron quickly said, more focused on the patient.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…do the LP."

"If it's a bleed in her brain, then she could die!" Foreman yelled angrily.

"Well, thank God she's in one of those crazy places…what's the name…oh, right…a _hospital_!"

"You never take the safe route."

"I'm being held here against my will and Cameron is updating Cuddy on the patient's condition like her own personal slave. You'd be stuck doing the LP anyway."

"I'm not--" Cameron started hesitantly, obviously about to lie.

"Shut up and do it. And when it comes back negative, drill a hole in her head." House hung up and stuck his phone back in his pocket.

"So…Cameron and Chase?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah. And Cameron claims it's only about the sex."

"She's going to get hurt."

"_Chase_ is going to get hurt. Cameron's going to continue claiming that all she wanted out of this were multiple nights full of fun lovin' even after Chase admits he likes her."

"Chase likes her?"

"Chase always liked her. Eventually, Chase will realize he was stupid and let her go and then Cameron will realize she was stupid and then they'll both be stupid and do nothing about it."

"How long have you been analyzing this?"

"I know my team well. You know, I actually have stuff to do. You can't just keep me here all day."

"Sure, I can." Wilson stood up to go to the kitchen and wash his now empty bowl of cereal.

"I can hurt you. Don't let the cane fool you. In fact, I can use the cane to hurt you."

"I know that too. And given the choice between pissing you off or pissing off Cuddy…well, you both can make my life hell but you generally do a better job."

"Well, that's something we agree on."

"So as soon as we drop your tux off at the dry cleaners I'm out of here."

"Wh..what about me?" House asked, feeling dejected.

Wilson shrugged. "Want to go bowling?"

"Aww…thanks, Wilson! I knew you wouldn't disappoint."

_Yeah, because it was either this or excruciating suffering for the next few hours. _Wilson thought to himself as he washed his bowl.

**Okaaaayyyy…so that's that. Review, review, review pleazzzzzzzz!! Thanks!**

**:)**


	20. Chapter 20: Foundation

**I don't own House, but I hope you enjoy the chapter anyway! **

**Chapter 20**

After Cameron left her office to rat out on another crazy procedure suggested by House, Cuddy picked up her phone and dialed Weston's number. As she waited for her to pick up, she anxiously tapped on her nails on the desk.

"Detective Weston."

"Weston, it's Dr. Cuddy, from the--"

"The case with Ethan Ratcliffe, yes, I remember. Is there a problem?"

"Ethan left a message on House's phone."

"A message…like a voicemail message?"

"Yeah, I don't know how old the message is but he called and left one. His message also included a tape. Apparently Ethan recorded everything that had happened that day."

Weston was silent for a moment, thinking. "So all in all, Ethan managed to get his hands on a phone, call House, and leave a recording that he had made."

"It sounds like it."

"This is good," she said simply. For a moment, she sounded just like House when one of his patients had developed another interesting but fatal symptom.

"Good?" Cuddy asked quietly, wanting an explanation.

"This is more evidence. He's going to get a few more years for smuggling and probably intimidation as well. This means he either conned someone to get the job done or…he has a partner."

Cuddy hadn't thought about the fact that Ethan might have a partner. She just assumed he had threatened an inmate or had taken advantage of jail smuggling. If he really did have a partner that had given him the phone, the tape or even made the tape…then there was another person out there that wanted House dead.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

But if Ethan had a partner, then he wasn't doing much except for Ethan's dirty work. But that raised even more questions. If Ethan was in charge, what the hell was he doing in prison? Why not play his cards so that the partner went instead?

"Dr. Cuddy?"

Unless…Ethan _was_ the sidekick and the guy who really wanted House killed was still out there, lying low.

"Are you there?"

"Yes." Cuddy muttered absent mindedly. "Sorry, I was just…Ethan could have a partner?"

"It's unlikely," Weston quickly said. "But I can't say much, I'm going to tell Dr. House--"

"So what now?" Cuddy interrupted, a little shaken about this new turn of events.

"I'm going to give Dr. House to further discuss this latest event."

"Is there anything I should--"

"I'm going to have to discuss with Dr. Ho--"

"Is there something else that happened?" Cuddy asked, annoyed. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cuddy, I've already said too much."

_Too much?_ Cuddy thought. _You didn't tell me anything!_

"Feel free to call me if anything else happens."

Cuddy sat down as she hung up. Why was Weston so adamant on keeping quiet all of a sudden? What wasn't she telling her? And to make everything worse – there was the fact that Ethan could very well have a partner walking around, plotting how to get rid of House once and for all. She thought that with Ethan in prison, the drama was almost over. There was nothing left to worry about – but now…now she wasn't so sure.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

An hour before Cuddy was due back at home, Wilson had given up trying to convince his friend to get out off the couch. The two of them were at House's apartment in direct defiance of Cuddy's ' stay at my house' rules. Wilson decided that worst come to worst, he'd say House had tricked him – that was always believable. But then again, she probably wouldn't buy it. After all, she had picked Wilson to watch him hoping he wouldn't be easy to fool.

"Stop trying to figure out how to get yourself out of trouble and take your punishment like a man," House told him.

"It was _your_ idea! Now she's going to kill me," Wilson said simply. "You told me all you wanted to pick up was your guitar."

"Well, I did, didn't I? I just got sidetracked." House smirked, strumming a combination of annoying chords.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Pfft. Who wouldn't?"

"She's probably on her way home and when she finds out no-one's there she's going to be pissed…I happen to like my job--"

_Mmmbop…ba duba da bop du bop..._Wilson's rant was interrupted by House's phone, his team's ringtone playing.

"That ringtone is obnoxious," Wilson complained.

"_I _like it."

"_You're_ obnoxious."

House grinned, agreeing and answered. "You better have something good for me."

"It's methyl bromide poisoning," Foreman answered immediately.

"You got all this from the LP?" House asked sarcastically.

"She has a cat."

"Well, that explains it," House said rolling his eyes. He put the team on speaker and set it down on the table.

"The cat was just fine when Cameron and I checked the home but it wasn't eating and neither was Fran," Chase said.

"Who the hell is Fran?"

"The patient!" Cameron said impatiently. "The cat _and_ Fran had similar symptoms so Chase went over to check the home again."

Chase took over from here. "Fifty years ago, Fran's house was one estate. The two homes shared an electrical system. The thing is the exterminator didn't know that so when they fumigated next door, the methyl bromide flowed through the old pipe and into her house."

"So…methyl bromide poisoning." House said slowly, honestly impressed. "Who came up with it?"

"Chase did," Foreman answered.

"I'm impressed."

House could practically see Chase's expression light up. "Really?"

"Of course. I'm impressed you were able to notice the cat while having sex with your not-so-girlfriend. Did you let the cat watch too?"

Foreman laughed at this one and Chase mumbled, "Thanks," a little disappointed.

"I've got to go terrorize people," House dismissed as he hung up and picked his guitar back up.

"Would it be so bad to give Chase a _little_ credit?" Wilson asked.

"I did. I told him I was impressed."

"At his ability to have sex and search the home simultaneously."

"What? That _is_ impressive."

Wilson shook his head, knowing that pursuing that particular subject wasn't going to get either of them anywhere. "You know…this Chase, Cameron thing might work."

"It _would_ work…if Cameron would admit she just doesn't want to play with his pink oboe."

Wilson shook his head slightly. "I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing you come up with new and creative names for sex organs."

"Want to hear all the names I've come up with for Cuddy's organs?" House asked playfully, anticipating his friend's answer.

"No!"

"You sure? They're _really_ creative…I'm even proud of myself."

"Stop it!" Wilson said suddenly. "I don't want to know _anything_…How am I supposed to ask her to sign off on a procedure if all I have stuck in my head is some delusional metaphor for…various parts of her anatomy…you might be able to function with such information but I can't."

"Liar."

"You! You…you!" Wilson exclaimed, jumping up a little as he pointed his finger at House.

"Me! Me!" House repeated in an equally animated voice, confused.

"You! You're just like Cameron! She likes Chase but claims she only likes his…" Wilson thought for a while, trying to remember the word House had used.

"I believe the phrase was 'The Pink Oboe'".

"Right…that…but that's not the point. Cameron claims to only like the sex…not the entire package. And you're just the same. You claim to hate Cuddy and claim to not want anything to do with her but you _like_ her. The only difference is that Cameron at least has reached the sex stage."

"What makes you think I haven't?" House defended childishly.

"So you're admitting that you claiming to not like Cuddy is bullshit?"

"No…I'm suggesting that--"

"Stop rationalizing!"

"I haven't even started yet!"

"Admit it. You like her."

For the second time in less than three minutes, House's phone rang.

"Saved by the bell," Wilson said.

"Not in your case," House answered, grinning. He answered with a loud and jovial, "Hi, Cuddles!"

"Where are you?" Cuddy answered curtly. Wilson's eyes widened when he realized who House was talking to.

"That depends…where are _you_?" House asked instead.

"I'm at home…where you're _supposed_ to be."

"Oh…then I guess I need to come up with a believable excuse pretty fast, huh?"

"Where's Wilson?"

"I tied him up and left him under the bridge."

"House…"

"What? You didn't give me long enough to come up with a believable excuse. Give me a second…okay, I got one—"

"Did Weston call you?" she asked suddenly, taking an entirely different tone.

"Yeah, she did," House said as he recalled the event. She had called him earlier that day, saying that she had found out about the latest Ethan prank from Cuddy. She had also reminded him that in order for her to refrain from giving Cuddy too much information about his case _he_ would need to keep her updated – not Cuddy. He had simply said that when he didn't care about her knowing something, he'd step up – for now…might as well take advantage of the pampering. The conversation ran a lot longer after Weston had revealed something she knew about the case but he wasn't about to tell Cuddy that. Especially now.

"And what did you decide to do about meeting with--" Cuddy began.

"Can we do this later?" he asked bluntly but seriously.

"Okay. Give me a second to backpedal – Where the hell are you two?"

He smiled to himself. This is why he liked her. She understood him. He didn't want to be badgered over things that actually mattered just quite yet. He'd rather continue on with his daily routine – terrorizing and meaningless banter. When he was ready to seriously discuss, he would. Cuddy knew that, and quickly jumped on board. She didn't need an explanation because she already knew the reason.

Oh, God…_This is why he liked her_….Did he just think that?

And that stupid smirk on Wilson's face…time to get rid of that.

"Okay…here's my excuse. It's all Wilson's fault."

Wilson's face fell as he realized that the topic of conversation had switched to something less appealing as House continued. "We left and partied! It was all his idea too."

"No, it wasn't! You tricked me!" Wilson yelled, hoping Cuddy would hear his defense.

"Ignore him. He doesn't know what he's saying – he's drunk."

"Stop trying to make him wet himself and get your ass over here," Cuddy said, trying to sound furious but her tone came out slightly amused. "And tell Wilson to go home."

"Cuddy says you're gonna get it," House translated.

"Let me talk to him," Cuddy demanded.

"But, Mom!"

"I'm not kidding," Cuddy said, deciding to hang up on him.

"Come on, Jimmy," House said, standing up. "Time to go. Oh, and Cuddy decided to spare you…apparently you're the only oncologist she really likes."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**Later that night**_

"Drilling a hole into a poor woman's head is _not_ a good enough reason for searching for an invisible bleed in her brain," Cuddy admonished as House sulked. The two of them were in the kitchen. Cuddy was cooking and House was childishly inspecting everything she put together and tasting it for himself.

"If it saves her life I'm pretty sure it's a good reason."

"But it didn't! You were wrong," Cuddy reminded him as she emptied a can of cream of mushroom in a bowl. "It was methyl bromide poisoning, remember? Why are we even arguing about this?"

"Because it was a perfectly safe procedure! There was no reason for you to say no."

"I didn't say no, you assumed I would and told your team to do the LP first."

"Was my assumption wrong?"

"Nope." She took out the tilapia she had been thawing out and laid it down carefully in the casserole dish.

House made a face at the food she was preparing. "That's the point! You _should_ have said yes. The procedure wouldn't have killed her."

"Oh, yeah. Drilling holes into people's head isn't a big deal. It's right up there with stool samples and blood tests." After laying down the fish, she took out some milk and added it to the cream of mushroom in the bowl and began to mix it.

This time, House couldn't suppress his thoughts. "Eeeeeeww…." he whimpered, wrinkling his nose as he peered down at it.

"It's not 'eeww'," Cuddy corrected, laughing a little. After mixing the milk and the cream, she poured it over the fish.

"What the hell…!?" House exclaimed, looking at it. "Are you _trying_ to poison me?"

"Yes."

"I'll be good in the clinic," House suggested, clasping his hands together. "Please don't kill me."

"I'm not going to kill you. It's good. You'll like it." After emptying the bowl, she handed it abruptly to House adding, "Wash that."

"You can't make me eat that thing _and_ do dishes," House whined, but he took the bowl anyway.

"It's food and it's edible. And it tastes good. I promise you'll love it. Besides, isn't there some rule about not biting the hand that feeds you?"

"If I can bite the hand that signs my paychecks then I can bite the hand that feeds me…considering the fact that it's the same hand." He dropped the bowl in the sink, ignoring Cuddy's request to wash it.

"Right…" Cuddy said slowly, scattering different vegetables on top before sticking it in the oven. Just as she turned back around, she saw House sticking his fingers in some gravy she had just made.

"Hey!" she yelled, grabbing the bowl. "You're going to make it gross."

House looked on innocently, still licking his index finger. "I think…I'm still going to meet with Ethan."

Cuddy was a little…no…_extremely _surprised that House had brought that up. "Oh…really?"

House nodded once, quickly dipping his finger back into the bowl of gravy Cuddy was holding.

"Stop it! Really, House?"

"I needed a distraction," House said once, licking his fingers before sticking it back into the bowl. Cuddy didn't even try to stop him.

"So…you used Ethan as a distraction so you could attack the gravy? Genius," she said sarcastically.

"The genius part is knowing that you'd forget about the food if I mentioned him."

"Using my worry to stick your hand in a pot of food is not genius, it's mean and callous."

House made a face that clearly said, 'What's-your-point?' before dipping his finger again.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes and started to wash the bowl she had asked House to wash earlier. House made a similar expression. "What?"

"Nothing," she said simply.

He knew what though. He dipped his finger in the gravy one last time before saying, "Gimme."

"You hate dishes."

"How would you know?"

"Because you never did them when we were at your place," she said simply with a pinch of annoyance layered in her voice as she rinsed the bowl out. Equally annoyed, House sighed loudly as he took the bowl from her and started to wash it himself.

After about half a minute of silence House asked, "So?"

"So what?" Cuddy asked back, but the viciousness in her tone had completely disappeared.

"Me, Ethan, lecture, go."

"I'm not going to give you a lecture."

"But you're going to give me an opinion."

"Is that illegal?"

"No. Just unwanted."

"So why did you bring it up?"

"Because if I didn't suffer through the excruciating lecture now, you'd postpone my bedtime and make me listen to it later."

Cuddy stood back, leaning on the counter. "I'm not gonna lecture. It's not my call. And I think you should move the date back. Wait until you're ready. There's nothing wrong with that. Weston called you right?"

"Yeah," he answered, drying the bowl.

Now they were reaching the topic she really wanted to discuss. She picked up a few more dirty dishes that were lying around the kitchen and dropped them in the sink for House. He frowned but continued to wash them anyway.

"What did she say?" Cuddy prompted.

He shrugged, trying not to make a big deal out of it. "She'll come over later on to get a copy of the tape to use as evidence and for now the meeting with Ethan is still on…"

"And…?" She could tell that there was something else he was hesitant to tell her. He handed her a wet plate for her to dry and she took it, cleaning it off.

"She said Ethan might have a partner he's working with."

"And how likely is that?" she asked, remembering her conversation with Weston.

"Unlikely," he said a little too quickly.

Cuddy studied him as she dried a plate. That was exactly what Weston had said, and neither of them sounded convinced.

"You're lying," she accused.

"I'm not lying. It's almost impossible for Ethan to have --"

"Don't give me that bullshit," Cuddy snapped. "Weston told you to tell _me_ that. What aren't you telling me?"

"You don't need to know everything--"

"So there _is_ something. Something worse?"

House sighed loudly, closing his eyes, honestly considering whether or not to tell her the truth. This woman specialized in worrying but she deserved to know, didn't she? No, she didn't. Again, this had nothing to do with her. But that had nothing to do with it. She'd keep assuming the worst if he said nothing.

"What is it?"

There it was…that urgent, pleading and yet demanding tone. He should tell her. No, he shouldn't. It wasn't her business. Yes it was…

He opened his eyes, making his decision. "Ethan has a partner. Weston's almost positive."

"Wh…what makes her so sure?" Cuddy asked, trying not to scream her frustration.

"Ethan's a dumbass," House continued. "The man can't keep his mouth shut, and already has a long record of stupid stunts he tried to pull. Tried to rob a local grocery store once and took his mask off right before he left the store. Camera caught his face. Another time he tried to rob a gas station, didn't know there was a cop behind him buying a donut. He's a notorious idiot. There's no way he could've pulled off the entire thing himself. There has to be someone waving the magic wand and giving him directions."

"So…he doesn't have a partner…he's got a boss? Some other guy's in charge."

"And apparently he's willing to go to prison for his 'boss'. I know I wouldn't."

"House, this is serious."

"I know," House said solemnly after washing the last dish. He started to dry his hands as Cuddy dried the last dish.

"This means there's one other person out there who wants you--"

"I know," House interrupted quickly.

"Well, what are the cops doing about it?! If they know that there's someone running around out there that's trying to kill you why are they doing nothing?!"

"They don't have proof, Cuddy!" House stressed. "They don't have names, any ideas…this is just a hunch."

"You have hunches all the time…and you end up saving someone's life."

"Yeah but when I have a hunch, I know where to look. They don't. They can't just go around stabbing in the dark. It's a wild guess."

"You need to be careful."

"Nothing's happened to me in almost two months."

"That doesn't mean--"

"I'm not going out there with a target attached to my back," he told her, meeting her eyes. She was scared no doubt, but he was terrified. He wasn't telling her the specifics that Weston had told him. Like the fact that Ethan had actually admitted to having a partner who was really running the entire program. But he didn't want to burden her with that information. Maybe he should, he didn't know. But right now he just didn't want to see that fear in her eyes.

"That doesn't make me feel any better," she told him. "If they know there's someone out there then they should be keeping you safe. The last thing you should be doing, then is talking to Ethan on the 18th…" Her eyes seemed to change colors as she realized something. "That's why you're so bent on seeing him despite the tape. You'll think he'll say something."

"He might give me the names of those other people he murdered or he might tell me what the hell is really going on. He's been sending everyone on a wild goose chase – it seems to be the one thing he's good at."

"It could be a trick. Maybe he hasn't even killed anyone but he's saying that so you'll show up…maybe--"

"Speculation's not going to get you anywhere," he warned her.

"Nothing's making sense," Cuddy said. She looked completely lost, confused…it was a strange thing to see on her face. Any other person would've cracked by now, on the verge of tears, but not Lisa Cuddy. But the emotions running through her were undeniable.

_Oh, shit…you shouldn't have told her_, an annoying voice in House's head told him. "Well, things would be boring if they made sense. I'd be out of a job, for one."

"Aren't you worried?"

"No," House lied smoothly sitting on top of the counter. Cuddy obviously disapproved but was worried about more important things. "Why should I be worried?"

"Are you listening to yourself?"

"Being worried isn't going to get me anywhere. There's nothing for me to do."

"For some strange reason, I always saw you as a take action kind of guy."

"So what do you think I should do? Hunt down every suspicious looking guy and threaten him at gunpoint? There's nothing left for me to do. I might take action but I'm not an idiot. I'm an ass though."

"You could go to the police station and yell at them to do something! If they know someone's out there then they can at least do _something_ to protect you."

"They can't do anything because they don't know who it is, Lisa!"

Cuddy hesitated.

"What?" House asked suddenly.

"You…called me by my name."

House didn't get her point. "Just trying to prove my point, She-Devil."

_He didn't realize he called me 'Lisa',_ Cuddy thought to herself but didn't say anything and House continued. "I walk into your office telling you I want to perform an…exploratory surgery on some dimwit's brain. You tell me no, I whine and finally you ask me why." He nodded a few times, waving his hand, prompting her to ask why.

Cuddy sighed loudly. "Why, Dr. House?"

"I tell you there's a tumor that's going to eat my patient's brain. You want proof. What do you tell me to bring you?"

"CT scan."

"I bring it and what do you know, you don't see a Godzilla sized tumor in my patient's brain. I still want the surgery. Now what do you say?"

"I still need proof," she mumbled, already knowing where this was going.

"So I have to wait until my patient gets worse and use some crazy method that you probably still won't approve of to convince you to let me have my surgery. The point is, you need proof and so do they."

Cuddy shrugged a little, rolling her eyes. "That has got to be the worst hypothetical situation I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

"You're just angry I didn't use a metaphor." He jumped off the counter and peered into the oven. "Is that poison ready yet?"

Cuddy laughed, part of her worry fading. "Not yet." Maybe he did know what he was doing – he wasn't worried. Yet, House knew exactly how to ignore things that mattered and distract himself with something unimportant. She just hoped he wasn't doing that now.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**45 minutes later…**_

"Is it ready now?" House asked for the seventh time in fifteen minutes.

"God, I hope so. Maybe then you'll shut up," Cuddy whined as she opened the oven to pull out the casserole dish. She glanced at his expression as she placed the dish on the countertop. "Admit it, it looks good."

It obviously did but House wasn't about to give her that satisfaction. "Looks like it's already been digested."

She snickered and turned around to get two plates and forks. When she came back, House was about to experimentally stick his finger in.

"Do you always have to do that?" she asked just before he had time to complete his mission. "It's hot anyway, you'll just burn your finger off." She handed him a plate and fork to serve himself, but instead, House stuck his fork in the dish and began to eat out of it, completely ignoring the plate.

"Why do I bother?" Cuddy asked herself, serving him. She glanced at him again. "You like it?"

House thought about it for a second then immediately answered with total apathy, "No."

He was about to stick the fork back in the dish but Cuddy quickly slapped his hand, forcing him to eat from the plate. He rolled his eyes but continued to eat anyway.

"If you don't like it why are you eating it?"

"Mm-rmm," House answered, sticking another forkful in his mouth.

"It's hot!" Cuddy exclaimed a millisecond too late. House dropped his fork and grimaced as the food burned his tongue.

"I think…I burned part of my tongue off…you did that on purpose."

"What did I do?" Cuddy asked, trying not to laugh at him.

"Well, you didn't do anything. That's just as bad as doing nothing."

"Whatever," Cuddy said, deciding to ignore him.

"Who the hell did you cook for, the state of New Jersey?" House asked, sticking another, but significantly smaller, forkful of casserole into his mouth.

"Think of it as a version of Chinese take-out…you can stick in the fridge and microwave it for dinner tomorrow."

"Do you always make this much?"

Cuddy shook her head. "I never have to cook for more than one person."

Those words meant so much more and House knew it. They meant she was used to the quiet nature and solitude of her home but didn't mind sharing it either, even if it was only temporarily. She liked the company.

"Judging by how big your ass has gotten recently, I'd say you _always_ cook for more than one person."

Cuddy smiled a little, "Keep insulting it and I'll just let you starve."

House made a funny face at her but didn't say anything. Despite how much fun he had insulting/complimenting her ass, this casserole was too good to go to waste.

**And…that's that! Review please! It makes me smile! **

**Oh, and I'm thinking about renaming all the chapters…you know…as opposed to "Chapter 14". I'm not sure when though.**

**And 1 more thing...if you know anything about the specifics of how this case (police investigation-wise) should go, PLEASE TELL ME! I don't know much about police investigations and how far their limitations go. I do my research but I obviously still mess things up. So please tell me anything that doesn't add up! THANKS SO MUCH!!!  
**

**Kaaayyyy….review!!!! Review, review, review!**

**:)**


	21. Chapter 21: I Think You Get What I Mean

**here's my next update. enjoy my fellow fanfiction-ers!!! **

**I don't own House.**

Chapter 21

It had been a week since the prospect of Ethan having a partner had been uncovered. Weston had confirmed that they were now dealing with an accomplice and had told House who, at first, refused to tell Cuddy. But he knew she wasn't an idiot and it hadn't taken Cuddy long to catch on and Wilson to find out soon after. The knowledge was a burden on all of them but House didn't seem to be affected by it at all. He wanted Cuddy and Wilson to know that he wouldn't let this new information take over his life. He wanted them to know that he wasn't worried so they wouldn't; there was no reason to make a big deal out of it, which, of course, was a total and absolute lie.

He was worried shitless.

The knowledge of a partner scared the hell out of him. It brought him back to those two days in the basement with Ethan and he couldn't help but think, _If that was what Ethan wanted to do to me, what the hell does the other guy plan on doing?_ He'd find himself losing track of time easily, day dreaming, getting distracted. His team figured something was up but a few threats here and a meaningless punishment there meant 'Mind your own business, fool'. And they did.

The problem was that he was more worried about everyone else he knew than he was about himself. He had already gone through the torture and the pain. He had suffered through the aftermath, and, with help, he had managed to handle it. But he didn't think he could handle it if he saw Wilson or Cuddy in his position.

He'd kill himself if he ever had to see Cuddy in that position.

Oh, God, Cuddy. He had no idea where things were going with her...

They were friends. The two of them, and had been since med school. And over the last one and a half months they had definitely become closer. But the question was, just how close was too close? When he had kissed her weeks ago, his feelings toward her weren't like this. Back then, he knew all the emotions he was feeling and could separate them. Now…he didn't even know if he was feeling one emotion or several. Back then, he had done it just to prove a point now…well, now he did what he did best – not think about it by way of distraction.

It was how he lived now. Distractions. Distractions from Ethan, Ethan's partner, the meeting with him next week, his growing feelings for Cuddy… He would dive into cases now, solving them faster than ever while he swiftly insulted his friend's hair, stole his food and checked out his boss's ass especially when she was near a donor.

Speaking of donors…that goddamn fundraiser was in tomorrow and Cuddy had been having the time of her life reminding him about it day after day. He almost couldn't wait for the day to just come so he could get it over with already.

Almost.

He sighed, trying to get some sleep. He wasn't supposed to be sleeping considering all the patients in the clinic. He was in Exam Room 2, lying down on hospital bed with a newspaper over his face. He had left the lights on, hoping everyone else would think he was seeing a patient. Actually, most of the nurses probably knew he wasn't seeing a patient but they probably wouldn't say anything anyway.

House hadn't even heard the door open or Cuddy walk in. She abruptly ripped the newspaper away from his face, accidentally pinching House's nose in the process.

"Owww!!!!" He sat up, instantly, grabbing his nose. "What the hell are you trying to do, rip out my nose?"

"Believe me, if all I had to do was rip out your nose to ensure you did your job, I would have done it a long time ago. I mean, who needs a nose?" Cuddy deadpanned.

House, still frowning, turned around and lay back down on the bed, facing away from Cuddy. She simply walked to the other side and yelled, "House!"

"What!"

She shoved a blue file at him and he quickly grabbed it before it fell down. "Is this a case? I already have one so this person can just die," he lied.

He heard some shuffling behind him and turned to see a teenager, probably eighteen or nineteen, with multiple tattoos and piercings dressed in everything black and leather. Yet, despite her, 'I'm-so-tough' outfit, she looked like she might piss in her pants.

"It's not a case. I just figured since you're in the clinic, you can see a few patients."

"I did. In here," he pointed at his head. "And I did more than just 'see' them if you know what I mean…"

She rolled her eyes and quickly turned on her heels to leave. Once she had closed the door, he closed his eyes to get some sleep. He knew the girl was still in the room but he figured she'd feel awkward and leave. Instead, she scuffed her shoes a few times and coughed loudly.

House groaned and peered over at her. "What the hell are you still doing in here?"

"Uh…I…"

House sat up grudgingly, to look at her file. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing…I--"

"I mean physically," House specified, silently adding _you moron_ to the end of that sentence. This was going to be a long day.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Do you need me to pick you up for the fundraiser?" Wilson asked as the he ate his lunch…with the help of House, of course.

"Do we have to talk about the fundraiser? There are a lot of other subjects out there worthy of discussion. Rainbows… sunshine…the monument I plan on creating to celebrate Cuddy's ass when the full moon--"

"I'm only asking because I'm not so sure you'd actually drive yourself there."

"I can drive," House spat, trying to sound insulted.

"I know you can drive. I'm just not sure you'll reach the correct destination."

House smirked. "You know me too well."

"Seriously, are you actually going to go?"

"If I don't go, Cuddy said she'll starve me…wait a minute…I think she said if I keep complimenting her ass she'll starve me. She's so modest, even hates my compliments."

Wilson stifled a lecture or a groan. For the past few weeks, Wilson had seen both Cuddy and House interact and you had to be an idiot to not notice the changes. Sure at the hospital he was still the annoying pain in the ass and she was still the employer doing her best to control him but anywhere else, they were two almost completely different people. It was like they put on a show at work and took a break as soon as they stepped out of the hospital. He listened to her more often, she wasn't as uptight and, dare he say it, he was more human. It wasn't just Cuddy helping House, he was helping her as well and it didn't seem like either of them realized it.

"Has it ever occurred to you that you bringing up Cuddy's ass whenever possible suggests that you like not only her ass, but her as a person?"

"Nope. But I see where you're coming from. After all, it would be rude to like only her ass. Her boobs would get jealous."

Wilson sighed, dropping the subject. "Speaking of relationships that will are bound to fail because the people involved decide to be idiots--"

"In your defense, it was your ex-wife that was the bigger idiot."

"—Cameron and Chase are still together," Wilson completed, ignoring House's deflection.

"But that doesn't mean I've lost my bet with Foreman," House pointed out quickly, determined to win. "I said one week, he gave them an additional two. If they break up within the next three days, then my guess was closer than Foreman's, so I win."

"I doubt Foreman's going to see it like that."

"Foreman is a fair man when it comes to winning a bet. He'll see it my way."

"Right, because you're the standard of fairness."

"Wanna bet?" House asked, willing to get another source of income.

"No, thanks," Wilson said hurriedly.

"Scared?"

"Yes."

House grimaced. "You're boring."

"So what makes you so sure you're going to win? What's going to change in three days? If you ask me, they're only putting it off this long to prove you wrong."

"They can't play games with me. They can try, but they will lose…but Foreman is getting better at playing, I'll give him that. But that's not the point…the point is, the fundraiser is tomorrow."

"What does the fundraiser mean?"

"If they go together to the fundraiser, as a date or as friends, then they'll be forced to maintain an illusion of date-hood. Chase will start to get the wrong idea about their relationship, Cameron will get pissed, end of 'relationship'. If they go separately to the fundraiser, Chase is going to find himself another play-toy for the night and Cameron will get jealous, end of 'relationship'. Either way, I win."

"So this relationship is going to end because of hypocrisy either way?"

"Yup."

"You do realize that in doing this, one of two things is going to happen. They'll realize their hypocrisy and actually become a real…thing…or they'll realize their hypocrisy and be idiots and not try to fix anything. So you either help them, or they're going to become to the most annoying members of your team. They also happen to be 2/3 of your team."

"I don't care what happens next. I just want to win my bet, prove a point, and have the chance to say that Foreman was wrong."

"Still. The sanity of 2/3 of your team hangs in the balance. You have to have a back-up plan."

"Of course I have a plan. Blackmail. I tell them to focus on the case or risk getting fired. Chase loves his job too much and Cameron will try to prove she's a big girl. I win. Again."

"And if they fix the problem and become a couple?"

"They've been having sex for two weeks and seemed to be doing their job pretty well. How different can it really be if all they do is also admit they have feelings? Believe me, Wilson. Whichever way this thing blows up or doesn't, I'm going to be just fine. And fifty dollars richer."

I'm going to be just fine….how could he say that, Wilson thought to himself. Especially after the confirmed accomplice who's identity had yet to be confirmed…how could anyone function with that knowledge? He himself was worried sick for his friend. And yet, House had been pulling it off for a little over a week now. At times, even Wilson was convinced there was nothing to worry about –that House, somehow, had some sort of plan. But he'd quickly pull himself out of his wishful thinking and remind himself that it was how House was coping. Pretend the problem wasn't even there. It wasn't a very safe strategy but at least he had something working for him.

Wilson realized that not once had House brought up the meeting with Ethan yet. None of them were sure exactly how that was going to work, what Ethan wanted to really talk about, what he would admit to, if he would admit anything…and the most important question…how well House would handle it.

No wonder House pretended the issue wasn't even there. It was definitely a lot easier than dealing with it. Unfortunately, it wasn't always the best plan.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

A few steps away from House's office, Cuddy was preparing herself for what exactly she would say to House. There was no way she could just ask and get it over with. He'd read into it, analyze it, figure out ways to make her pay…no, he wouldn't. And that's why she was going to ask him, not Wilson, not one of the other donors who had asked her, but _him_. Why was she so willing to subject herself to this? House was going to get a kick out of this, or worse, mock her. _No, he won't_, she told herself again. _You've known him longer than anyone. What makes you expect he'll act at least semi-grown up about it_? She didn't know. _It's not even a big deal, and here you are having an internal battle_ _over it. Just go in there and say it._

She had opened the door to his office. No turning back now.

"I need an escort," Cuddy announced, slamming her hands on House's desk. She was neither smiling nor frowning when she said it but she looked at him expectantly but unsure.

House said nothing for a moment. "I feel as if our roles in the hospital have switched. I should be the one slamming my hands on _your_ desk demanding an escort. Come on, let's go downstairs to your office and try again. I don't like upsetting the balance."

"I need an escort," she repeated again with less force.

"If you walk up and down this street, take the jacket off, leave the skirt and unbutton your blouse just a little, you'd have dozens of men asking you to be their escort for the night…dozens of women probably too. Voila. You've solved your own problem."

"For the fundraiser tomorrow," she specified, trying to hide an amused smirk. "I'm the dean of medicine and I… need to go with someone. It's one of those social rules that most people follow but is unwritten and undefined. You wouldn't understand," she joked. Then added, "But that's why I need an escort."

"Are you trying to start a conversation? What does this have to do with me?"

She exhaled quickly through slightly pursed lips, looking up at the ceiling as if some divine hand would smack House across the face. _Do I have to spell everything out? He can be such an idiot for a medical genius._ "Will you…be my escort for the fundraiser tomorrow?"

House frowned a little, trying to figure out if she was joking. A twitch here, a flared nostril there…nothing. Still, he was sure this was Wilson's idea, to prove a point. Well, he'd show him. A few unnerving seconds passed before House finally answered.

"You look like you're about to wet yourself," he said.

She looked down at him and intelligently asked, "Huh?"

"Am I that intimidating?" House asked, now amused. "If you don't want to really go with me just ask Wilson. I'm sure he'll be _delighted_. Even I'm not sure if I'm going, I've been spending my time plotting some sort of escape. Wait a minute, is this your way to _force_ me to go?"

"No, I'm not trying to force you. And if I wanted to go with Wilson I would've asked Wilson. I'm asking you."

"Now _you're_ being intimidating. Is this how you ask all your…escorts…?" he paused at the last word, smirking immaturely.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," she said, leaning off the table and turning to walk out of the room. She had honestly expected him to say yes even though she was so used to expecting 'no' – especially when it came to House. Yet, she found that she was disappointed at his answer, and with that disappointment came hurt.

Just before she turned around, he caught it. He saw that emotion in her eyes. Holy crap, she was serious. Damn it, House…fix it, fix it, fix it…

"You of all people should know to never extrapolate from my ramblings," House mocked causing Cuddy to backpedal. She turned around just at the door, surprised but still expectant. House finally gave her a clear cut answer. "I'll go…_if_ you answer one question."

_Here it comes_, Cuddy thought to herself. "Okay."

"You can't fool me! Since when do you need an escort to a fundraiser?"

Cuddy half sighed, half laughed, mostly from relief. She raised her hands in surrender as she walked back to his desk with a sheepish look on her face. "You've haven't been to a fundraiser in years. I thought I could fool you."

"I'm unfool-able," House said proudly. "So why are you _really_ asking me?"

"Because some idiot's been badgering me for weeks about taking me to the fundraiser," she admitted guiltily.

"I assume this idiot is a donor?"

"Have you ever heard of that saying…the problem when you assume is that you make an ass out of you and me?"

"I'm already an ass, and you have a bigger one so I can't go wrong with assumptions. I'm right, though, aren't I? It was a donor?" House had that triumphant smirk on his face, meaning he was obviously amused and found this whole thing interesting.

She sighed, sitting down in the chair right in front of his desk. She took his red tennis ball and twirled it around on the desk. "Yes, it's a donor. Happy? And he's been on my tail since."

"Is he fat?" House asked, still smirking.

"No. He's a nice guy but so damn boring…"

"Wow. Again, that's something I should be saying. It's like we're in an alternate universe."

Cuddy smiled. "Ha-ha, House. But he wants to donate a lot of money to the hospital and I don't want to offend him."

"So your genius plan is to turn him down? Yeah, I'll doubt he'll be offended."

"He'll be even more offended if I don't have a …show up without someone," she mended. "Then he'll know for certain that I don't like him. So do me a favor and act for me, will you?"

"You went from pleading to demanding in two minutes flat. That has got be a record, even for a crazy administrator like you."

"Dean of medicine," she corrected, still twirling the ball. "So will you go with me?"

"You don't want to offend him and you chose the most offending doctor in the hospital to fake go with you?" he asked, trying to stay away from the word 'date'.

"You're a better liar," Cuddy lied smoothly. Actually, House being a liar wasn't a lie at all, but her reason for asking House was. She had asked House because, just that morning, when the rich donor with no shame had called yet again to ask her to take her to the fundraiser, she had said she was already going with someone. And she had given the donor a name. A specific name. House's name.

"Will you go?" she asked again.

"How could I say no to such an opportunity?" House said with fake enthusiasm.

At that moment, the three ducklings walked into his office. "We have a twenty six year old female--" Foreman started but abruptly stopped when he saw Cuddy and House talking. The two of them were smiling somewhat evilly and diabolically and Cuddy was playing with his tennis ball. Cuddy turned around, quickly dropping the ball as if it was a hot potato and House looked over her shoulder. Foreman had stopped not because Cuddy and House had been talking – that definitely wasn't a first – but because of how. It didn't look like they were arguing, like they wanted to chew each other's heads off…they looked like two normal human beings just…talking.

Weird…

"Um…you busy?" Chase asked a little uncomfortably.

Cuddy was already about to make up some lie about what they had been talking about but House quickly filled in. "I know it looks like we were just talking but really we were having sex. That's why we were sitting so close."

Cuddy made a 'Are you serious?' look but apparently that excuse was good enough for everyone else.

Cameron continued where Foreman had left off, "Twenty six year old female, gas main exploded under her building and she was pulled out of the rubble after six hours."

House nodded once, obviously bored. "Well, that sucks."

"Two surgeries for multiple fractures and burns--"

"Multiple fractures!" House gasped. "Wow! That building must have been like…_really_ heavy!"

"She has a fever but it isn't responding to antipyretics – fever's holding at 104. And she's the only victim with the problem," Foreman finished.

"Bo-ring!" House sang.

"If it's so boring then figure out what the problem is," Cuddy demanded.

"Why are you being so demanding?" Then he mumbled through the side of his mouth saying, "I just said yes to your other proposition!"

"I'm a demanding administrator, remember?" she shot back. She leaned closer to House's end of table and whispered so that the rest of the team couldn't hear, "You take this case, or I'll rig your bet with Foreman and make it so that Cameron and Chase stay together at least for the next three days."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then I get 75% of your winnings."

"You can't do that."

She leaned a little closer to him – terrifyingly close. "Watch me." She smirked as she stood up and walked out of his office, leaving him baffled. There was no way she could get 75% of his winnings, but the way she had said it – she seemed so certain, as if she knew something he didn't. He frowned, weighing his chances while his team stood awkwardly at the door trying to figure out exactly what was going on between their boss and their boss's boss.

"So…collapsed building patient…" Foreman prompted.

House rolled his eyes, sighing, and propped his hand on his desk, lifting it up. Foreman gave him the file for him to skim through. He'd take the case- no one was getting part of his bet money.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House dramatically opened the door and slammed it behind him, staring Wilson in the eye.

"Is your name James Wilson?" Wilson asked. "My name is on that door. Why are you always in here?"

"You almost ruined me and Cuddy," House accused, pointing at his friend with his cane. He sat down on the couch still staring him down.

"Care to clue me in?"

"You've been drilling it into me that I like her so when she comes into my office and asks me something, the first thing I do is assume you're behind it. If I didn't figure it out on time she would've been pissed and I would be forced to endure more annoying snotty nose kids in the clinic as punishment."

"Still not clued in."

"She asked me out."

Wilson immediately dropped what he was doing. "Really?" he asked, hardly believing his ears.

"No, you idiot! She asked me to…take her to the fundraiser."

"What's the difference?"

"It's not a real date. I'll take her there, escape and come back in time to take her back home. The end. Besides, she's only trying to get out of another date with some dumbass donor."

"So she chose you as…back up?"

"I was thinking…liberator?" House suggested.

"So she's trying to get out of something without offending the guy that could write her a nice check?"

"Yup. And she chose the notorious pain in the ass doctor to do the job. Is this ironic or what?"

"Yeah. You see irony, I see--"

"Shut up."

"Why are you so adamant that this is nothing?" Wilson asked. "You're practically going on a date-"

"Fake date."

"Now _this_ is ironic. Aren't Cameron and Chase fake dating?"

"Yes, and they're about to break up. Cuddy and I were never together."

"Do you want you two to be together?"

"No."

"Yes, you do! You _know_ you do."

House sighed, aggravated. This was supposed to be a funny conversation, discussing all the ways House could make that donor's life hell. Now they were discussing…feelings.

"She's my boss," House rationalized.

"Admit it," Wilson pushed. "You like her."

"I'm really starting to not like _you_."

"It's not a bad thing, House. To like someone."

"She's my boss."

"Since when did that stop you?"

"Despite common beliefs, I _am_ aware of boundaries and limits. Just because I choose to ignore them doesn't mean--"

"So why aren't you terrified of this boss boundary? You always ignore boundaries but all of a sudden you're scared to even get close! You flout limitations because they mean nothing to you. Because there's nothing to lose. But this time, everything's different. You like her, care about her, she _means_ something to you and this time you have _everything_ to lose."

"No pressure, right?" House said standing up to leave. Stupid Wilson.

Wilson said nothing as House slammed the door as he left. He could hardly believe this new turn of events. House and Cuddy were going out on a date, and neither of them believed it really was one. Things were bound to get interesting.

**Yeah, so now you know more about the fundraiser! Honestly, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with it. Should I make it dramatic? Revealing? A filler chapter? Funny? Angst filled? I've been thinking about it for a while now and this is what I finally decided on. Definitely not dramatic (in all honesty, I never wanted the fundraiser to be dramatic) but an okay idea I think. There's definitely going to be funny House-annoying-donors moments and House/Cuddyness parts so I think it's an okay balance. **

**Looking forward to it? Or maybe the Ethan meeting that is definitely coming up? How else am I supposed to know if you don't REVIEW!!**

**Thanks guys for reading and reviewing – I passed the 200 review mark!! YAY! Everyone gets cyber cookies and lollipops! ^^**

**Please don't stop reviewing! It makes me smile! **

**:)**


	22. Chapter 22: Funhouse

**Sorry for the long wait. I love you! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: House is not mine. **

Chapter 22

"I want you to be nice," Cuddy warned House from one of the rooms downstairs. "You can insult anyone you want in your head or with Wilson as long as your subject of insults is nowhere near you!"

"Then what's the point of insulting someone?" House yelled back, pouring himself a glass of juice. He had already finished getting dressed but Cuddy had still locked herself in the room for the past hour. He was quickly growing restless.

"If this fundraiser fails because you were too annoying to keep your mouth shut for a few minutes, I'll hurt you. I don't want any funny business."

"This is going to be the most boring fundraiser _ever_!" House whined just as Cuddy unlocked the door and stepped out. He turned around to make a comment that had something to do with the end of the world and how long it took Cuddy to get ready, but the words were instantly caught in his throat. Cuddy was wearing a long, dazzling red dress that was easy to point out in a crowd with a simple one-strand pearl necklace resting delicately on her neck. The dress accentuated her figure envied by many and his mind instantly went blank as he digested how amazing she looked – purely stunning.

Cuddy wasn't paying attention to House's gawking though. If she had, she definitely would have pointed it out and made him feel uncomfortable about it. Instead, she was clutching her back with one hand, holding on to part of the fabric and quickly walking up to House.

"Zip me up," she demanded, still refusing to look up at him as she approached, though she couldn't help but smile at House's next words.

"Really?" House asked, sounding a little too excited. Cuddy turned around once she was next to him, revealing the upper half of her back. House frowned, disappointed. "Hey…you already zipped it up halfway. No fair."

Cuddy chuckled as he placed his left hand on her lower back protected only by the thin dress fabric. She tried not to squirm as he slowly brought the zipper up, still holding on to the dress, his hand brushing against her bare skin ever so slightly. She was glad she was facing away from him so he wouldn't see her slightly embarrassed expression. As soon as he finished she muttered a flustered, "Thanks," realizing she had been holding her breath. Cuddy fixed her curled hair and allowed it to fall behind and around her before looking up to see how well House had cleaned himself up. Exasperated, she rolled her eyes.

"Can't you even straighten a bow tie?"she muttered, thankful that she had heels on so she could reach up and fix it.

"It's fine," House griped.

"No, it's not, it's lopsided…" After a slight pause she asked, "What? No comeback? Nothing about how my breasts are lopsided…?" she prodded, jokingly.

"Because they're not lopsided," he said simply, his famous smirk dancing across his lips.

"Is that an actual compliment or are you just saying that because you couldn't think of something?"

"Mmm….let's go with the second one," House decided. "You look nice." Ha! Nice was an understatement…she looked like a goddess. So why couldn't he just _say_ that? _You look nice…you're an idiot._

Cuddy blushed again, but this time, she knew House saw her cheeks light up. House wasn't very proud of his gift of a compliment but Cuddy was more than happy to receive it. Compliments from House were like gold – you didn't come by them often but when you did it was definitely something worth treasuring. "Thanks," she told him, not in the least bit feeling uncomfortable.

"Come on," House said, as he grabbed his cane. He opened the front door for her. "Let's go mess with people."

She should have chastised his attitude, but instead she smiled broadly, laughing and following him out.

Earlier, they had agreed to take Cuddy's car, mostly because she didn't want to be seen driving in 'that thing' House called a car. In all honesty, House couldn't argue with that, but that didn't mean he hadn't. After all, arguing was House's favorite pastime. He _had_ managed to convince her to let him drive, though – to maintain the 'date' illusion…and so that he could drive like a maniac and scare the crap out of Cuddy.

The entire time in the car, she had been rattling off a list of rules and limitations for House to memorize. "No unnecessary touching--"

"But that's the best part!" he had whined after cutting in front of someone abruptly.

"No graphic details of a nonexistent sex life, no graphic details about anything for that matter…"

"So I can give details…just nothing graphic?"

"No details. Period," Cuddy amended quickly.

He rolled his eyes, complying. Cuddy was sucking out the fun of everything. That only meant he'd have to try harder to have his fun while twisting Cuddy's own words against him. Things should get interesting…

Cuddy, meanwhile was eyeing the green light House wanted to make.

"You should slow down; it's going to turn red."

"No backseat driving," he told her, accelerating well past the speed limit.

"You're going to get a ticket!" Cuddy yelled.

"Do you see a cop?"

"It's nine o'clock at night; it's too dark to see a cop! And if you get a ticket then we won't make it to the hospital in time! Slow down!" Just as she said that, the light turned yellow.

"House!"

House smirked childishly as they whipped past it just as it turned red. He gave Cuddy a few seconds to cool down before adding, "Wanna try it again for the next light? It'll be fun…"

"Shut up," she spat at him, deciding to ignore him.

As soon as he parked, he stepped out and limped to the other side of Cuddy's car, opening the door for her. Cuddy was still maintaining a frown plastered on her face, but it was beginning to wear off.

"I know how to impress the ladies," House told her with his sarcasm laced into his voice. "Opening doors and my mad driving skills are just the beginning."

The scowl Cuddy was trying to preserve didn't last as a conspicuous smirk took its place. He could do any stupid, useless or annoying thing but it was almost always impossible for her to remain angry at him.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"I hope you know this doesn't change things," Cameron warned Chase. The two of them had just arrived at the hospital – together, and Cameron wasn't so sure Chase understood that going together didn't mean they _were_ together.

"I know," Chase said, though he wished he didn't. He liked her, but he didn't really have the opportunity to tell her, which was ironic considering their…sleeping arrangements.

"Hey, do you think House is actually coming?"

Chase mentally backpedalled as he scanned the crowd for Foreman. "That's an odd change of subject. Do you _want_ House to be here?"

"I'm just curious," she weakly defended. "Jealous?"

"Should I be?"

"I'm not yours and I'm not his – there's nothing to be jealous of." She was really starting to get annoyed with Chase recently. He wanted to make this more than they were. He wanted to complicate things and the point of their relationship was its lack of complication. He was just going to mess things up for both of them if he didn't slow down or just shut up.

Chase didn't like where this was going. He wasn't exactly up for a relationship debate right now, especially with an entire night ahead of them. "I'm going to check out one of the poker tables, if you want to--"

"Oh my God!"

"What?"

"Over there!" she said nodding ahead trying to keep herself inconspicuous. She looked away for a moment, trying not to make eye contact with whatever or whoever it was.

"I don't see anything, what's--"

"The entrance…"

Chase didn't like this I-Spy game she wanted to play but he glanced over anyway and as soon as he did, he understood what the big deal was or, more importantly, why it was a big deal to Cameron.

House and Cuddy were standing near the entrance and their body language, close proximity and the fact that he hadn't quickly run off to the nearest bar or poker table was proof enough that they had come together…_together _together.

"Oh…" Chase said simply.

"What do you mean 'oh'?" Cameron shot back angrily.

Cuddy was talking to a handsome, middle aged man and House didn't look to happy about it. The man shook House's hand and House expertly faked an 'I am so happy to finally meet you' smile. As soon as he had left House told Cuddy something that caused her to nudge him warningly but she couldn't help but smile at whatever he had said as House quickly scanned the crowd. After finding whatever he had been looking for her leaned to whisper something in Cuddy's ear who didn't so much as flinch but answered him back, still smiling.

"Are they…going out? Did you know that?" Cameron asked suddenly. "No, you couldn't have known that. No one knew that. Does Wilson know?"

"What? Jealous?" Chase asked, instead.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"How many more of these people do I have to pretend I am interested in?" House complained after greeting a Dr. What's-his-face, Cardiologist.

"Don't complain now, House," she said. "You're doing great…and you haven't insulted someone yet. Apparently miracles are possible."

"The only miracle was not telling that last _male_ donor that glossing his nails is only one of the reasons I'm convinced he's a closet transvestite," House muttered.

Cuddy chuckled again. She had been doing that a lot lately. It was so much easier to laugh at his jokes, sarcasms and unsaid insults than it was to pretend that they weren't funny at all – even if he was being annoying in the process. Being friends with House was definitely more fun than being his boss. Wilson had it good, she realized, and she wasn't so sure she wanted this night to end. Tomorrow, they'd jump back into routine – he'd be House and she'd be the boss who tried to keep him in line.

Actually…now that she thought about it, she didn't really mind being the boss keeping him in line. She had her own fun in the process and the banter was still there. Being his boss was a job, but it wasn't boring because of him, and she definitely didn't hate her job because of him either. Being his friend, though, gave her a chance to get to know a different side of him. She got to see the more emotional, human aspect while getting the opportunity to laugh _with_ him rather than not at all. Having the best of both worlds was definitely something she loved even more and amazingly possible, even with a man like House. Wilson was one lucky bastard.

Her musing was over when she spotted the donor that had asked her to the fundraiser multiple times that week.

"Okay, House, do you see that guy over there with the brown hair standing next to the poker tables? He's coming over--"

"Yeah, I see him. Is he going to be the third nephrologist I'll pretend to be so happy to meet?"

"No, that's Mr. Ryan Heath – the donor I was telling you about. Doesn't know squat about medicine," Cuddy whispered quickly as the donor approached them, smiling broadly. "Please, please, please, behave. I am personally begging you…be nice. Do you remember the last time a donor was willing to give us a hundred million dollars…Vogler, I think? Ring a bell? Let's not make the same mistake twice. A hundred million dollars is still music to my ears."

House rolled his eyes, grumbling. Yeah, he probably did owe her. "Fine. But if he tries to fire me my side of the deal is up. My charm is going to disappear faster than my--" He was about to finish his metaphor with a very dirty and graphic line but he was perfectly interrupted by Ryan Heath.

"Dr. Cuddy!" Ryan said in an exaggerated cheerful tone. He opened his arms and embraced her before she could do anything about it. House frowned, ready to spring to the attack – verbally of course.

"Mr. Heath, it's nice to see you again," Cuddy gasped when he let her go.

"And this must be the lucky Dr. House," he said warmly taking his hand, but House could easily see the disdain in his eyes. Wow, this guy had _really_ wanted to go out with Cuddy.

"I like to think I'm that lucky bastard," House answered.

"You know, of all the departments in this hospital, I find yours the most interesting. Fewer patients, but high success rate, and it seems to be extremely stressful."

"I owe the stress to the she-devil I like to call my boss. But she does an amazing job making me forget about that stress once we get home if you know what I mean."

She would have punched him were it not for the donor in front of them. "Mr. Heath I hope you enjoy yourself and use this as an opportunity to see how your money will be spent, hopefully in the near future."

"I most definitely will do that," Ryan answered cheerfully, directing his attention to the woman in front of him. "I hope you enjoy your night."

"We will, and feel free to find me whenever you need to."

"I will," he said as he walked past the two of them, but not before he gave House a surprisingly threatening frown. House promptly returned the glare.

"What is your problem?" Cuddy asked him, leaning into his ear. "Why do you have to get on the defensive? And I thought I said no sexual innuendos."

"It wasn't a sexual innuendo. All I said was that you made me forget about my stress of the day which _you_ undeniably cause. It's not my fault he's got his head in the gutter."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Cuddy warned him, her anger waning. "I still must say I am impressed that's all you said. I definitely expected worse."

"I am just full of surprises." She laughed as he scanned the crowd quickly, trying to see if he'd find Wilson. What he _did_ find, though, was Chase and Cameron staring at him and Cuddy from afar. They didn't stop staring so apparently they weren't aware that he knew they were watching. The temptation to screw with his team was overpowering. He leaned towards Cuddy to whisper something in her ear. "I'm going to go mess with people at the poker tables. Want to watch the fun?"

"I'd rather join in than watch," she answered, without even flinching. Having him so close like this seemed almost daring, like they were breaking some sort of hidden rule – she liked it.

"Jumping in with the big boys, are we?"

"If I recall correctly I beat a certain big boy at poker not too long ago."

"That was weeks ago!" House argued.

"Time to redeem yourself," she said, smiling as they walked over to find Wilson.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Sixty," Wilson said.

"Call," Cuddy answered.

"You'll call anything," House accused.

Cuddy raised an eyebrow that clearly meant, "I dare you to challenge me."

"I raise," House said, accepting the challenge as he threw in a few more chips. Cuddy stared right back at him, her poker face on.

Wilson glanced at both of them repeatedly, trying to understand he silent battle going on. They knew something he didn't know…

"Fold," Wilson said. Whatever game these two were playing, he didn't want any part of it. Besides, his hand sucked.

House and Cuddy continued the staring game for a few more seconds just as Cameron and Chase walked up behind her.

"Hi, Dr.-- " Cameron started.

"Playing a game here," House told her without so much as a glance her way.

"Raise," Cuddy said simply, throwing in a lot more chips.

She was _so_ bluffing. "Call," he said and the flop was dealt. He waved at Cameron. "You guys can play catch up now."

"You're not going to distract me that easily," sipping on her water. She inspected the cards that were now in front of her but her facial expression remained unchanged. House would never admit it, but she was good at bluffing – very good.

"One twenty," House said, throwing in the right amount of chips.

"Raise."

"All in," House said, as he pushed all his chips to the center of her table. Instantly, Cuddy's face fell.

"Ouch," Wilson said simply, wondering what Cuddy's plan of action was.

"You're bluffing." Cuddy said simply, trying to read his expression.

House raised an eyebrow, questioningly. "That could be true. _Or_, you're the only one who's bluffing. But, hey, who am I to know?"

Another period of silent exchange took place between them and everyone who was watching, held on to their breath, curious.

Cuddy rolled her eyes, giving up and sighed loudly. "I'm outta here," she said, laying her cards face up.

"Yes!!!" House muttered, grinning broadly as he pulled the chips closer to his side of the table. "_Now_ you can have your heartfelt chat with Cameron."

She turned around to finally answer her but noticed no one was around. "Where did she go?"

"She left after the flop," Wilson said simply as his cards were dealt to him. Cuddy simply shrugged, determined to beat House the next round. House and Wilson on the other hand exchanged glances for a short moment, knowing exactly what the problem and why it was partially good news for House – he was going to win his bet.

"Twenty," House announced.

"Call."

"Raise," Wilson said.

House grinned and Wilson grimaced, thinking it had something to do with the House's hand. "You know," he said instead. "Relative to their size, gorillas have larger testicles than humans."

"I feel like I've heard this story before," Wilson said in mock contemplation. "Oh, I remember…when I left my wife. Funny, this story would be relevant if I was the same situation but in case you've forgotten, I'm not married."

"I don't want to hear a story," Cuddy said instead. "Especially your animal-testicle comparison stories. Wilson just raise and let's get on with it."

House pouted for the rest of the game, unable to finish his comparison, but won the round, cheering him up considerably. Unfortunately, his mood sunk once again when a familiar person grabbed the chair next to him.

"Hope I'm not too late to join," Mr. Heath said, smiling.

"Unfortunately," House muttered, rolling his eyes.

"What was that?"

"You're just in time!" House said instead obnoxiously.

"Am I missing something…?" Wilson said, a little tired of being behind on everything.

"Wilson this is Mr. Ryan Heath," Cuddy introduced. "The…donor I was telling you about. Mr. Heath, this is Dr. Wilson he's head of the Oncology Department."

"Nice to meet you," Mr. Heath greeted.

Wilson muttered a haphazard greeting trying to make eye contact with House. As soon as Mr. Heath was looking away, House made a funny face behind his back. Yes, this must be that donor House was supposed to 'protect' Cuddy from. Wilson grinned to himself, wondering how this new change in events would play out, and hoping no-one would end up with a bloody nose.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"I thought you were over him," Chase told her, hardly believing what was going on.

"I am," Cameron argued. "I don't need to talk about this at all."

"You can't even stand to look at him knowing he isn't pining for you, which is ridiculous because he was never pining for you. You just told yourself you were fine without him because you thought he'd always be without _you_. You're jealous of Cuddy."

"I am _not_ jealous of--"

"Hey," Foreman interrupted, finally finding them that night. "Did you hear that Cuddy and House are going out?"

"Yeah, we saw," Cameron mumbled.

"Really? I couldn't even believe he was capable of having a serious relationship."

"He was with Stacy for years," Chase argued.

"They might not be going out…they could've just come together," Cameron started.

"I take it you're jealous?" Foreman immediately deduced. "You know," he continued. "I honestly shouldn't be surprised. But I really did think you were finally over him."

"They're dating," Chase assured Cameron. "You should have seen them earlier – they definitely hadn't come as employee and boss. And if they really weren't going together, House would have quickly run for the bar or poker tables as soon as he got here. Instead, he stayed with Cuddy, greeting every other donor and it didn't look like he was insulting that many of them."

"You call that proof?" Foreman said, smirking a little.

"See?" Cameron quickly said, jumping on the agreement.

"He opened the car door for Cuddy when they got here," Foreman said instead, causing Cameron's face to fall again. "Now _that's_ proof."

"Really?" Chase said, smirking. "Wow…"

Foreman nodded. "I know, I could hardly believe it either…" _Which means I've probably lost my bet with House_, he thought to himself, eyeing Cameron.

"They could just--" Cameron started.

"Why are you so adamant they're not going out when they obviously are?" Chase asked, suddenly furious. "I really did think you were finally over him…I mean, it's been what, three years since you're crazy crush started?"

Foreman decided now was a good time to leave. It was bad enough he'd lose his bet, he didn't want to be caught in this crossfire either. "Yeah, well, it looks like you guys need to talk. I'm out of here."

Cameron sighed, looking Chase in the eye. "I am over House. I just…didn't expect him to--"

"Get over you? He never _wanted_ you there was nothing to get over!"

"I know that, and I don't care about that either. It's just…it caught me by surprise. That's all. Besides, who I like and don't like isn't even your problem."

"I have religiously been sleeping with you. I think I have the right to know--"

"No. You don't," Cameron told him simply. "That's the point. I chose you because I don't have any feelings for you."

"You've never slept with House and you have feelings for _him_. But when it comes to me, you're honestly trying to tell me you feel _nothing_?"

"I think that was the point of this arrangement," Cameron said coldly.

"Then I guess this arrangement isn't going to work anymore," Chase said as he took a glass from a tray that was going by and left Cameron in the middle of the room.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Thirty," Wilson started.

"Raise," Mr. Heath said for the millionth time.

_Of course he'll raise, what has he got to lose…Mr. Millionaire_. "Call," he voiced instead, failing to mask his annoyance.

It was Cuddy's turn. "Call. Mr. Heath, is there any department you're especially interested in investing in or one that has caught your eye in particular?"

"Cuddy!" House chastised obnoxiously. "Stop trying to advertise; we're only playing a simple game of poker…"

Mr. Heath didn't so much as spare a glance House's way. "I love--"

House quickly interrupted him, not ready to hear about why he loved babies or the story of how his mother had died of cancer or how he appreciated the idea of a free clinic…blah, blah, blah. He had heard enough of the ass-kisser. Besides, why did he need to kiss ass? He already had the money. "Do you want something from the bar, Cuddy?" he asked, just to mess with Ryan.

"Merlot would be nice," Cuddy answered. House stood up and swiftly whacked Wilson's shin under the table with his cane.

"Ow!" Wilson exclaimed automatically clutching his leg under the table. House didn't so much as turn around to see how bad the damage was. Instead, he made his way over to the bar. When Wilson didn't immediately follow him, House turned towards the table and shot him an evil "You're asking for it" glare.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked, completely oblivious.

"Oh…er…I think something bit me. Give me a minute," he muttered quickly before practically jumping away from the table.

"If you want to say something, say it – don't try and make me your twin," Wilson scolded once they were both at the bar.

House ignored his insulting comment, saying, "You're too short to be my twin."

"What do you want, anyway?"

House glanced around, waiting for a bartender. "I hate that guy."

"The donor?" Wilson checked. "You and rich guys that are potential assets to hospitals don't generally get along anyway. That's not news." He glanced back at the table he had just hastily left and saw Cuddy and the donor laughing about something. Wilson grinned, finally getting what the real issue was. "What? Is Mommy not spending enough time with you?"

"He's annoying!" House said instead. "He's not even the least bit interesting. He hates me, that's the only interesting thing but besides that--"

"How is hating you interesting? That's a norm for the rest of society. It would be interesting to _like_ you."

"Yeah but I haven't done anything to him. Usually I _do_ something first, like question their leadership or the source of their income or reveal that their spouse is having an affair. Today, I'm completely innocent."

"You _did_ do something. You stole his date."

"Whose side are you on anyway?" House questioned angrily.

Wilson glanced back at the table, then at House, then the table again. "You're jealous?"

"No," House answered sternly. "I'm pissed."

"You're jealous," Wilson concluded wagging his finger at him accusingly. "I can't believe you sometimes. You're jealous that the boring donor is going to steal Mommy? After she admitted she already hated him? Sometimes I question your genius." And with that simple statement, he left House at the bar and returned to the poker table.

House grimaced, not noticing the bartender waiting for his order. "Can I get you something?"

"White merlot," he said, without even looking at him, too engrossed in his reasoning. What Wilson said, though annoying and parent-like, was true. There was no rational reason for him to be jealous of Ryan, the boring donor. There was obviously a completely rational explanation for the irrational jealousy but House wasn't ready to admit to himself just yet.

"Merlot," the bartender said, sliding over the wine glass before quickly attending to someone else.

Sighing loudly, extremely reluctant to get back to the table, he took the wine and made his way back over. "Your merlot," he said as he handed Cuddy the glass.

"Thanks."

"That's enough for me for one night," Ryan finally said, clasping his hands together. "I'm going to go ahead and cash in."

"Leaving so soon?" House asked sarcastically. Cuddy kicked him underneath the table, despite the drink he had gotten her.

Ryan ignored the sarcasm. "I'll see you all some other time hopefully?" He stood up and shook everyone's hand, saving Cuddy for last and holding her hand for an especially long time. House pretended not to notice.

"Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Heath," Cuddy told him, finally wrenching her fingers out of his grip. As soon as she had left, she rolled her eyes and let loose an extremely frustrated sigh. She held her face in one of her hand, throwing in some of her chips to bet.

"You obviously enjoyed this encounter," Wilson noted.

"I have met my fair share of obnoxious donors but I would go for obnoxious any day compared to…_that_…"

"People have feelings, Cuddy," House said. "It's why we refer to people as _them_, not _that_. And why we don't kick people under tables."

"You kicked me!" Wilson whined.

"No, I didn't. I hit you with my third and artificial leg."

Wilson waved his hand and closed his eyes as if to dismiss the topic. Then to Cuddy he asked, "So…what's wrong with the not-obnoxious donor?"

"Besides indulging himself in shameless flirting for the full thirty seconds you two _weren't_ at the table?" Cuddy muttered.

"I noticed him indulge himself in shameless flirting for the full half hour we _were_ on the table," House piped up.

"Of course you did," Wilson said under his breath but only loud enough for House to hear.

"He bored me to tears."

"That's why I don't see patients."

"And his hands were all…clammy."

"Oh-ma-gosh, and, like…did you see his shoes?" House asked in an almost perfect imitation of a valley girl.

Cuddy's anger and frustration immediately dissipated and she smiled broadly, laughing at House's impersonation. Still laughing, she added, "And when all else failed he told me he had a yacht."

Wilson and House glanced at each other and then at Cuddy to see if she was telling the truth. When her facial expression remained unchanged Wilson and House laughed out loud at Ryan's pitiful attempt to impress Cuddy.

"Wait, a minute, you don't like him right?" House asked, just to make sure.

Cuddy frowned a little, eyeing him. "I refuse to answer that question until you finish your thought process."

"So…I can make his life super miserable and be as rude and childish as I want and if you do end up losing one hundred million dollars, you won't mind?" It was a long shot, but he thought he had a chance.

"Hell, no!"

And there went that chance. "Why not! What've you got to lose?"

"A hundred million dollars. I don't care how annoying he is, a hundred million dollars is a lot of money."

House sighed disapprovingly. "That's what all the prostitutes say. 'I don't care how fat he is, thirty dollars is a lot of money.' It makes me question your upbringing."

"Yeah…thirty dollars, and a hundred million. This isn't a skewed analogy at all."

"Thirty dollars is just the beginning."

"I'm not going to sleep with him. Don't get your boxers in a twist."

"Too late," Wilson muttered again, but only for House's ears. This time, House decided not to spare him the wrath of his artificial leg.

"Ow!" he yelled again, rubbing his shin.

"What now?" Cuddy asked.

House looked back at her with a completely innocent look upon his face. "I don't know. Where are we? Twenty?" he asked, referring to the poker game.

"Yeah, bet's at twenty."

"Call."

"Raise," Wilson said.

House smiled broadly. "You know…relative to their size, barnacles have the largest testicles of any--"

"Shut up," Cuddy said as she matched Wilson's raise. She drank some of her merlot, trying to hide the smirk on her lips at House's childish pout.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Hours later, House and Cuddy were driving back to Cuddy's home. They hadn't come in contact with Ryan at all for the rest of the night and instead the two of them and Wilson had spent their time talking and playing poker. Cuddy, of course, had spent a decent amount of time meeting donors. Wilson had used his initiative to do the same but House had needed a lot more persuading. It had been a decent night – no yelling on Cuddy _or_ House's part which made it especially unique.

Cuddy was curled up in the passenger seat despite her dress, her head resting on the window. She looked exhausted and yet, House couldn't get the idea of how beautiful she looked out of his head.

"Aren't you going to put your belt on? Remember my crazy driving?" House prodded.

Cuddy groaned. "I don't care…"

House purposely swerved wildly causing a few angry drivers to honk at him. Cuddy jumped up a little but refused to open her eyes. "House! That's not funny!"

He laughed. "Yeah, it is."

"No, it's not! I have a headache and I'm tired."

House quickly dropped all play and scowled. "You have a headache?"

"It's late, and I've been drinking," she admitted, tiredly.

"You only drank the wine and some water later."

"Yeah, but I'm still tired…" her eyes remained shut tightly.

"How long have you had a headache?"

"About half an hour," she admitted.

"You should have said something! We could've left ages ago which would've made _me_ happy."

Cuddy let out a mix of a sigh and a chuckle, her eyes still tightly shut.

"What is it?" he asked, slightly aware of his uncharacteristically worried tone.

Cuddy noticed it too but had other things in her mind. "My stomach hurts. I probably just ate something, let's just go home."

"You didn't eat anything."

"Yeah, I did – I ate all of your pasta because you didn't like it," despite the pain in her stomach, she smiled a little at the memory of House whining because they didn't add enough cheese or something ridiculous.

"I _told_ you it was gross," House said, masking his concern with triumph.

She opened her eyes when the pain started to pass and House glanced at her. As soon as he did, he quickly switched on one of the lights in the car. Her eyes were blood shot red and they rolled around in their sockets as if trying to find something to focus on.

"Cuddy--" he started, already starting to pull over.

"Oh, God… it's spinning…" she gasped quietly holding her head, moaning.

"Are you with me? Cuddy…!" He placed index and middle finger on her neck and mentally calculated her pulse. Besides the fact that she was burning up faster than a turkey in the oven, her pulse was skyrocketing and from the pressure, her BP too.

"What?" Cuddy sighed as if she had just run a marathon. "Too..high?"

"You're going to explode…we're turning around."

"But I…mmm…" Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped in her seat, slipping halfway towards the floor.

"Lisa? Lisa!" He had already started the car again but he quickly checked her pulse again, just to make sure. He made an abrupt and illegal U-turn, speeding back towards the hospital."Shit!"

**I feel as if this wasn't exactly my best chapter, which is sad considering it was probably one of the longest waits. My bad. Please don't throw eggs at my house. I promise to make the next chapter better but you still might have to wait for it because I need to prepare for a college full scholarship interview! Wish me luck! ^_^** **As for this story, though…review!! Please review! **


	23. Chapter 23: The Party's Over

**I had a lot of reviews over previous chapters which was nice. It made me happy. And can you believe I updated an entire chapter already?! Whoop whoop! I'm going to apologize right now for anything medical I messed up – I'm a 17 year old senior – what do I know? Except for the fact that House and Cuddy were meant to be… LOL, enjoy anyway!**

**House me no own-ee.**

Chapter 23

House was scanning the thin crowd of people still at the fundraiser. Most of the people still there were drunk donors, hospital employees and janitors that were already starting to clean up. On his way to the hospital, he had called Wilson and told him to meet him in the back entrance of the ER. As he searched for the members of his team, his pager went off. House quickly dug into his pocket and pulled it out. It was Wilson and apparently he had already found all three members of his team – they were waiting for him upstairs.

House limped into his office to find Cameron, Chase and Foreman already twiddling their thumbs, waiting for instructions.

"What's going on?" Foreman asked, a little surprised at this late night call to duty. It wasn't like House to willingly take a case in the middle of the night, especially after a fundraiser he hadn't wanted to attend anyway.

House noticed Cameron and Chase were sitting on opposite ends of the table and he groaned internally. He didn't want to deal with a break-up, not when his boss's life may hang in the balance. Wilson was right, toying with his team like this was one day going to bite him in the butt when he least expected him. Damn it.

House didn't answer Foreman's question though. Instead, he grabbed his marker and started jotting down the symptoms. "Thirty five year old female, presents suddenly with the following symptoms…"

_Fever_

_Hypertension_

_Dizziness_

_Loss of Consciousness_

"All at once?" Foreman asked.

"That would be the definition of 'suddenly', so yes, all at once."

"Middle or inner ear infection?" Chase suggested.

"Previous physical examination proves that an ear infection is negative," House said, turning around to face his team.

"Is this patient file-less?" Cameron asked instead, much to House's annoyance.

"For now, yes."

"You can't honestly expect us to--"

"Yes!" House yelled angrily. "Actually, I can! What else?"

"Hypoglycemia?" Chase suggested.

"Without the sweating or trembling?" Cameron asked. "Those are the main symptoms of hypoglycemia and if--"

"Could be in the early stages, if it's acute, it fits--"

"Even in the acute stages sweating is a classic symptom--"

"Both of you, shut up," House said glaring at Cameron. "It's not hypoglycemia – patient's not diabetic so an acute version isn't likely either." He didn't have time for this mindless arguing between the two of them. If they didn't cut it out, he was going to have to beat someone with his cane.

"It could easily be drugs," Foreman spoke up. "Amphetamines, ecstasy--"

"Tox screen was negative."

Cameron seemed skeptical. "_You_ already ran these tests?"

"I trust my sources," House reassured her sarcastically.

"Nipah virus encephalitis?"

House shook his head, resting his hand on the board. "She's been around no pigs."

"Since when do we believe patients?" Cameron asked.

"Pulmonary embolism," Chase decided on finally with a hint of finality in his voice.

House tilted his head the side, thinking about it, and obviously about to agree.

"Without chest pain?" Cameron asked again.

"Stop bashing on your pretty boy's ideas and come up with a couple good ones yourself," House chastised. "Besides, patient has a long history of ignoring something when she knows something's wrong…and passed out before we could tell if chest pain was an issue. Foreman and Chase - go find it and remove it and Cameron go get laid." He picked up the file that he had left behind the white board and threw it at the table and quickly limped out of the room to go find Wilson. His team quickly opened up the file to see if there was something else they could figure out but found themselves all staring at the name typed up at the top.

_Lisa Cuddy._

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"If it's a pulmonary embolism then she's going to be fine," Wilson told his worried friend. The two of them were sitting in his office as House twirled his cane absent-mindedly.

"It's not a pulmonary embolism," House admitted.

Wilson eyebrows furrowed. "Then why did you--"

"I doubt it's a pulmonary embolism," he corrected. "Something's going to happen when they try and remove a nonexistent embolism."

"It fits, House. You of all people should know that. So why are you so bent on it not being that?"

"She hasn't broken any bones, she doesn't have high cholesterol – where the hell is a clot going to come from?"

"It can to happen to anyone."

"It's not likely."

"That's the point of your department, House – you take care of the 'not likely' patients. You usually like 'not likely'."

At that exact moment, Foreman and Chase walked into his office, still scrubbed up.

"Where's Cameron?" House asked immediately. From the look on their face, either the embolism hadn't ended well, or it hadn't started at all and in either case, he needed Cameron to come up with new theories.

"Pouting?" Chase suggested.

House rolled his eyes, angrily. "What happened?"

"Cuddy doesn't have high blood pressure – her BP _and_ pulse are plummeting fast. Whatever this is, it isn't a pulmonary embolism."

House only looked at Wilson. "Told you," he said simply, though he didn't sound nearly as eager as usual to prove someone wrong.

"So what causes fever and fluctuating BP?"

"It could be a tumor on or inside her adrenal gland," Wilson suggested hesitantly. "Adrenal medulla neoplasm. Would explain the fluctuations."

"What if…" House thought aloud. "It isn't fluctuating blood pressure? High BP because of the initial fever and shock. Then the high BP wouldn't even be relevant."

"So you want to replace a symptom?" Foreman asked. "You can't do that!"

"If it fits, I can. Which it does. So now we have dizziness, _low_ blood pressure and fever."

"The tumor could be benign," Chase started, knowing that House's replacing symptoms plan was a long shot. And that the only reason he was trying it was because he didn't want the answer to be a tumor.

"Or there could be no tumor."

"You're not being objective--"

"Enough!" House yelled suddenly, aggravated. "You want a tumor? Fine. Go do your MRI and find it when we're done here. Meanwhile, what causes _low_ blood pressure, fever and vertigo!"

For a few unnerving seconds, no one said a word and House sighed loudly massaging his forehead. Replacing symptoms didn't make sense, it was fluctuating BP, not low. "Go do the MRI--"

"Acute pericarditis would fit with low BP," Chase said before House could finish. "Inflammation around the heart could--"

House waved his hand sighing. "Antibiotics for the pericarditis and MRI for the tumor," he said simply, staring off into space as two thirds of his team quietly shuffled out. "And go find Cameron!" he yelled after them.

Wilson didn't say anything. He just observed his friend's disposition of worry and frustration. It was something he didn't see often – only when he was obsessing over something unimportant. And even then he seemed happier with himself. Now…he just looked lost.

"He's right," House said simply without looking at Wilson. "I'm not being objective. Tumor in her adrenal gland fits better any day."

Wilson sighed. "That's what your team is for."

"_I'm_ supposed to be objective. I can't even make a goddamn diagnosis without…"

"Your feelings getting in the way?" Wilson completed for him. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Not being objective is going to make me do something stupid and kill her."

"House, you have a team. That's what they're here for. You can't do this by yourself." Wilson noted that so far, House hadn't even been in Cuddy's room. Was this the reason? To remain as objective as possible so he could cure her? House knew that what Cuddy needed was someone to figure out what was wrong with her, not someone to hold her hand and tell her it would be okay. It was House's main reason for not seeing patients at all. Cure the patient and get out, no need to delve into their realm of emotions. But now, his own theory was working against him. It wasn't as simple as just 'curing the patient and get out'. Now it was, cure the patient and hope it's nothing too serious. House didn't want this case to be interesting – he wanted it to be _fixable_.

House continued to twirl his cane and Wilson said nothing more.

Meanwhile, Chase and Foreman were on their way to Cuddy's room. Before they even reached the elevators, the doors opened and Cameron stepped out.

"I checked Cuddy's room but you two weren't there," she said, a little out of breath. "Where are you two going?"

"I think a better question is where have _you_ been?" Foreman spat back as all three of them entered the elevators again. "House is pissed."

"At me?" Cameron asked.

"Yeah, well…you're not helping matters," Chase said. "He's just pissed in general with…everything."

Cameron purposely didn't even look at Chase nor acknowledge what he had just said. Instead, she asked Foreman, "So where are you going now?"

"We need to get an MRI to see if she has an adrenal medulla neoplasm. You could get the MRI set up and we'll bring her over."

They had just arrived at Cuddy's room when something caught Chase's eye. Before Cameron could leave to set up, he quickly stopped her. He nodded at the urine collection bag at the base of the bed – blood in her urine.

"That," Foreman started, "is not a tumor."

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"So in less than an hour we have fever, fluctuating BP, dizziness, loss of consciousness and now…red pee," House summed up. For now, he was glad that there was no tumor to worry about, but the fact that her state had deteriorated so rapidly wasn't exactly cheering him up either.

"Her kidney is failing," Cameron stated.

"If you're trying to redeem yourself for playing hooky during the last differential, you're going to have to say something a lot smarter."

"Her BP is still low," Foreman pointed out. "Which means it might not actually be fluctuating BP. It might…just be low."

"So what about the high BP when she first came in?" Cameron asked.

"That can be explained by the initial fever. See if you had been here, you would know that," House told her.

"Sepsis?"

"She would've been dead over forty five minutes ago," Wilson said, striking it down.

"Hantavirus?"

"Wouldn't have hit this hard this fast."

"Leptospirosis?" Chase thought out loud.

"She doesn't have a rat," Cameron said as if that was the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

"She doesn't need a pet rat to get a disease from it, in case you didn't know that before. Rat could have gotten into the house from anywhere, holes, from a basement…and it doesn't necessarily have to be a rat anyway."

"Leptospirosis is a stupid diagnosis, it wouldn't have hit this hard all of a sudden. What about Spirochetes disease?"

"Which is based on bacteria in mud, sewage and polluted water?" Chase asked, angrily. "How is that a better fit than leptospirosis?"

"Polluted water can get anywhere from the cafeteria to her own kitchen sink."

"So why isn't anyone else sick, just her!? Just to prove me wrong, you're trying to defend a pathetic idea--!"

"It fits the symptoms perfectly! If you would just drop it and stop making--"

"Shut the hell up!" House yelled, turning around to face Cameron and Chase. Foreman leaned back a little, trying to take himself out of the picture and Cameron and Chase were instantly silent. But House wasn't finished. "So you two have stopped sleeping together, congratulations or my condolences, I don't really care and I never will! Take your sex life problems out of my office and argue about it somewhere else because I for one don't give a damn!"

House's office was completely silent. House had no problem with Chase and Cameron arguing – as long as it was healthy and it was ultimately benefitting the patient. And usually, even if they were arguing because of some personal crap, he'd still encourage it, just to at least see them chew themselves to pieces and see who would win. But that same arguing was driving him insane. He needed to concentrate. What the hell could hit this fast and out of nowhere? And to think Cuddy was sure it had just been some sort of stomach bug.

House tilted his head as he looked at the symptoms on the board. A stomach bug, no not that. She thought she had just eaten something.

"So why isn't everyone else sick?" he asked out loud, quietly but loud enough for everyone to hear. Chase was just happy he didn't seem that angry but still said nothing.

"_Should_ everyone else be sick?" Foreman asked.

"If she ate something then everyone else should be sick. She got sick a little over an hour ago and whatever it is has hit full force. Either her immune system decided to take a weekend vacation to the Bahamas or there was something at the fundraiser that got her sick fast. Food poisoning maybe…"

"But no else is sick. What did she eat?" Cameron asked.

"Pasta, merlot and some water later…" House answered. "So what bacteria, virus, fungus…anything…but what can hide in food, be eaten by many and cause only one person to be sick?"

"Nothing," Wilson answered quickly. "Unless there was something particular in _her_ food."

House sighed, turning around to face his team and Wilson. "Exactly," he muttered and immediately everyone else in the room understood what this meant. "She was poisoned," he said.

"By who?" Cameron asked immediately, jumping on the non-medical aspect of the situation.

"Who isn't important right now, it's what," House said, though he wanted to jump on the who right there and then and hunt down the idiot that thought he had the right to poison Cuddy. Still, he remained on topic. "So what poison causes 'E', all of the above and does _not_ show up on a tox screen?"

"I thought you didn't do the tox screen."

"_I_ didn't do it," House corrected. "I boss people around if I want something like that done. But her tox screen was negative for pretty much everything."

"Mercury….lead…" Chase began, rattling a list of poisons that matched.

"She would've had to have been exposed over a long period of time for those to work," Wilson said. "What if it's something you can just keep in the house? Rat poisons…eye drops…"

"Visine," Cameron said. "Fits perfectly."

"Except for the blood in the urine…especially this fast…"

_Come on, think!_ House commanded himself but he couldn't get the idea out of his mind that someone would want to poison Cuddy. Who hated her? No, no, rewind…how did she get the food and—

His thought process stopped immediately as he realized something. She _hadn't_ gotten any of the food. House had ordered the merlot _for_ her and the pasta had originally been House's. He had only taken a bite out of his food and hated it but Cuddy had finished it. The food wasn't hers and technically, neither was the merlot – it had been House's. So whoever put the poison in there, wanted to give it to House – not to Cuddy. House was the intended target.

So this was his fault. Not directly maybe, but it was still his fault. If he had just eaten his pasta and stopped whining then not enough poison would have gotten into her system. _He_ would be the one in the hospital bed, not her.

Guilt. Guilt was the first thing he felt and it felt like he had jumped into a pool of ice cold water. This was his fault, this was his fault…

"House?" Wilson asked, dragging him out of his reverie. "So are we going with visine?"

Four pairs of eyes were intently staring at him, waiting for instructions. But all he had stuck in his head was, _It's your fault. She's dying and it's your fault. You're going to kill her_.

"House?"

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He didn't have time to bathe himself in guilt now. He needed to think. "It's not visine," he said simply. _Okay, so someone wanted to poison me. Who hates me enough to try this hard?_

The first person that popped into his head was Ethan.

_But Ethan's in jail…and he has a partner who isn't in jail_.

Shit…the partner had been at the fundraiser. He hadn't even known it but Ethan's accomplice had been right there, poisoning everything he ordered. Probably a cook – and maybe even that bartender that had given him the merlot…

"Okay, so if it's not visine, then what is it?"

_Drop it, House. You can freak out about that later. Ethan's partner tried to poison me…which means they probably wanted me in pain, dead or dying. A poison that's eventually going to kill…great, well, that narrows it down…lethal plus bloody urine and acts in less than twenty four hours…._

"House?"

"Quiet," House whispered, thinking. When he was in Egypt with his dad, there had been an issue with one of the natives poisoning one of the Marines. It had taken the native days to admit it, well after the Marine had died, but he had given the Marine a few castor beans to eat – not a true bean, but one of the deadliest plants in the world. The Marine had died in less than twelve hours. All the symptoms matched as of now – except for one which meant Cuddy hadn't had nearly as much of the poison – Ricin. Ricin from the castor beans.

Shit. "It's ricin," he said quickly.

"How do you--"

"Get her IV fluids, flush her stomach--"

"Ricin's unlikely and even if that's the answer there's no antidote, no cure," Chase started.

"That's why I'm telling you to do this," House said, slightly frantic. Pumping her stomach and giving her IV fluids might not be enough, he realized. She had already ingested it for over two hours ago. All they could really hope was that she hadn't had that much, and that was what House was banking on. Ethan hated him but even if he was willing to give him ricin, he wouldn't give him enough to kill him and most likely, neither would the accomplice without some sort of face-off. Just enough to freak him out, put him in enough pain or scare the crap out of him – but not to kill him.

"Go!" he pressed, urging his team to hurry. "Ger her blood pressure up and put her on anticonvulsants."

"She doesn't have any seizures!" Cameron said.

"Not yet she doesn't, but that's what's coming next."

As soon as his team had run out of the room, House quickly collapsed on one of the chairs in the differential section of his office. Wilson was already seated and stared at him, trying to understand what had made him think ricin.

"Ricin?" Wilson asked. "What made you think that?"

House sighed, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. He had figured it out – the hard part was done. Now the hardest part remained – waiting.

"Why ricin?" Wilson repeated.

"Whoever poisoned her, was trying to poison me. I got her that merlot and I ordered the pasta. She drank and ate both."

Wilson thought about it and his eyes widened as he connected the dots. "So…all of that…this was supposed to--"

"This was supposed to be for me. She's not supposed to be the one fighting for her life. It's not even her fault. If I had just eaten the goddamn pasta and stopped whining about it then--"

"Then _you_ would be in that position. And no one would have figured it out. You would've died. You don't honestly feel guilty, do you?"

"Yes, I feel fucking guilty!" House yelled. He winced as a headache started to come on. He really needed to stop the screaming.

"Don't do this," Wilson warned. "Don't beat yourself up over this. You _not_ eating any of your food was actually a good thing. Otherwise, the rest of us would be sitting here trying to figure out what it was and we wouldn't get it. Then at the autopsy we'd find out you were poisoned and Cuddy would be devastated. You saved her life, House. Either way."

"Yeah, and I'm also the reason she's stuck here," he muttered angrily. So what if he saved her life? He also almost killed her.

Wilson seemed to read his mind. "You didn't kill her. You weren't the reason she was poisoned. You didn't poison her. You're the reason she's alive right now."

House closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. "I still feel like shit."

His guilt was irrational, Wilson thought to himself. He should feel relieved that she was fine, make a joke about how the she-devil has been granted additional years to torture him. Instead, he was blaming himself for her predicament. He felt like shit, because he felt something else towards her.

"You should tell her that when she wakes up," Wilson said before he stood up. He glanced at the crazy symptoms on the white board before leaving his office.

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Cuddy was going to be fine. It was three o'clock in the morning and his team had already left nearly two hours ago. Wilson had hung around for another hour, checking on him, making sure he was okay, dealing. After Wilson had left, House had finally made his way towards Cuddy's room and for the last hour, that was exactly where he had been.

She didn't look in pain or exhausted and he was extremely grateful. Instead, she looked like she was just taking a nap. He himself had fallen asleep in the chair beside her but had woken up not too long ago, waiting for her to do the same.

Ten minutes after he had woken up, she began to stir. Her sea green eyes slowly opened and House simply looked back at her, relief sweeping over his entire being. She squinted at the bright lights of her room. "Mmm…" she mumbled, groggily. "What happened…?"

House shrugged. "Not much…besides almost dying."

"What…was it?" she asked, trying to get her bearings. So she was in the hospital. How bad was it?

"Ricin poisoning," he said.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Poisoning? Why? Who--" She sat up, checking her vitals on the monitor.

"We'll talk about it later," House assured her. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she said a little angrily. "I want to talk about it _now_. What happened exactly? Don't leave anything out."

"It's…not a big deal, we--"

"It is a big deal!" Cuddy said, her pulse starting to race. He didn't want to burden her with the information now, but he also didn't want her to stress herself out about it either. So he explained what had happened, including when he had realized she had been poisoned because of him. She listened and didn't interrupt once.

When he was finished, she didn't say anything at first. "You're an idiot," she decided on eventually.

House frowned. "That's not a nice way to thank the man that saved your life."

But this time, she wasn't going to laugh at his joke. "You're an idiot for blaming yourself," she said. "How could you do that? It's not your fault, and you're sitting here convinced it is."

"Whoever put the poison there wasn't trying to hurt _you_. He was trying to hurt _me_. I'm the reason you almost died to begin with."

"If it _had_ happened to you, I know I wouldn't have figured it out. You wouldn't have just 'almost died'. You _would_ have died, and what do you think I would have done, knowing that I couldn't figure out what was wrong with you--?"

"You would have moved on," House told her.

House had no idea a woman's hand could move so damn fast. In less than a millisecond, his right cheek was stinging and he was sure her hand was practically printed on his face. He was also sure he had felt the slap before he even heard it.

"Ow!" he yelled, rubbing his face. "What the hell?" He looked at her and saw her eyes were brimming with tears.

"Don't you _ever_ tell me that if anything happened to you I would simply move on! I would never move on – I'd be devastated, I can't even begin to think about what I would do…how I'd cope, knowing--" She couldn't finish. The idea of losing him forever had hit her hard – like the day they had dragged him out of that basement months ago.

"Hey…" House consoled. He hated seeing her cry and despite the sharp slap he had just received, he took her hand. "It's okay…"

"How can you even say something like that…?"

"I'm sorry," he told her, causing her to finally look at him. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that, it wasn't fair…"

"Damn right," she sniffed causing House to crack a smirk. He stood up from his chair and sat on the edge of her bed. "Scootch over," he said and she gladly did, giving him more space. The two of them sat on her bed, welcoming the silence, grateful of each other's presence.

"I think I lost my mind when you were in here," House said. "I went in total panic mode."

"I doubt that," she said, honestly unable to imagine it. House? Panicked? Yeah, right.

"Just ask Cameron and Chase. I had a great yelling session with the two of them. Wilson probably would've laughed but he was probably scared I would yell at him too." She chuckled at that one.

"And before that…Wilson suggested adrenal medulla neoplasm and I made up some bullshit about how your high blood pressure earlier was irrelevant so it couldn't be a tumor."

"I take it the bullshit you made up turned out to be right," she said, smiling.

"Of course!" he said, making an 'I'm always right' face. His smile slowly disappeared though as he continued. "Then I realized that the only reason you were sick was because someone tried to poison me. And I felt like shit knowing that. It meant that I had stuck you in the crossfire between me and Ethan, and I hated myself for letting that happen."

"It wasn't your fault, House. You had nothing to do with--"

"It was _ricin_ poisoning, Cuddy," he said looking at her. "Most lethal plant out there, and that's what you had taken. I was lucky to have even caught it and you're lucky to even be here now. I…couldn't…figure out what I would do if we hadn't been as lucky. How would I live with myself knowing that you died because of me…"

"But I _didn't_, I'm right here."

"These last three hours have been like hell…" he admitted, staring into her sea like eyes. "Not knowing if you would make it, wondering if I was already too late…God, I was scared shitless…"

"House," she whispered, she was barely audible.

"Don't try that with me again," he warned her gently, caressing her cheek. "Don't mess with me like that."

In a single movement, the space between them disappeared. Her hands found their way to the back of his head and his cheek, pulling him towards her. He allowed himself to be taken and refused to think about yesterday and tomorrow – there was only this. She was here, and that was all that mattered – her hair, her smell. Her.

"I feel like I'm in a Spanish soap opera," he told her once they had parted, whispering into her ear. "Do you _usually_ slap someone before you make out with them?"

Cuddy grinned and lightly smacked him again on the other cheek. "Shut up," she told him before taking his lips again.

**I'm not one for boasting, but I freaking rock for posting two chapters up in one day (technically...it's not yet midnight where I am)! HOLLA!!! Don't expect this to happen often my fellow readers! =P **

**Please review! I had a BUNCH for the last chapter over the day which was definitely a constant motivator. Reviews make my day and make me want to make you happy! So, all together now. What are we going to do? REVIEW!!! YAY!!! ^_^**


	24. Chapter 24: Makes Me Wonder

**Okay, here's the next update! Happy reading! Oh, there may be a few typos in here. If there are, I'm sorry. I re-read it only once to check for errors. I'm kind of tired and want to sleep so here's the updated version with errors:**

**House me no own-ee…**

Chapter 24

For hours, they talked about nothing at all and everything at the same time. Why Q was a pointless letter, why Ryan Heath was a sexually frustrated fiend that needed to grown some balls, about House's meeting with Ethan later that week, the poisoning that was meant for House, each other. Especially each other.

"You think this is going to work?" he asked her, much later that morning, still sitting on the bed with her, his head resting on the board behind him.

"We both want it to," Cuddy said, her head resting on his shoulder.

"That isn't an answer – that's more of an evasion."

"I don't know what tomorrow is going to be like, or what crazy thing you'll do next, or what annoying thing I'll try and pull off…but we have an advantage: this is twenty years in the making. We have a better chance than anyone I know. This isn't a spur of the moment thing."

"But you have your limits," House told her. "I'll end up doing something that'll make you break, and then you won't be so sure."

"I haven't broken in twenty years, House."

"But you've come pretty close," he said, remembering a few key instances. Like when he told Cuddy she would suck as a mother, or during the Tritter case. Somehow, he had pushed her to lie for him under oath, even though he hadn't told her to. How much was too much?

"There is very little that can surprise me at this point. I can get angry, but I won't break."

"I can't change," he said, looking her in the eye. His wording was vital. It wasn't that he simply _wouldn't_ change, because saying that implies that he had the ability but not the will. The problem was, he honestly didn't have the capability to change into something he wasn't. Yes, he could be more responsible, go the clinic more often, do dishes – he could change those no problem if he wanted to. But who he was wasn't going anywhere.

"I don't want you to change."

"You deserve better," he admitted, for a moment not realizing he had even said it out loud.

"I don't want _better_," Cuddy said, her eyes half closed as sleep started to take over. "I want _you_. And if you even _think_ about changing for me, I swear to God I'll cut off your balls and force you to change bandages in the ER for the rest of your life."

House winced. "Please, ma'am…anything but my balls." Cuddy laughed, and yawned quickly after.

"I should leave," he said, sitting up slightly.

"Why?" Cuddy asked, not too keen on the idea.

"Because you're exhausted – saying you've had a busy night is an understatement. You need to sleep."

"So do you," she pointed out.

"I'm going home."

"But…aren't you tired?"

"_That's_ why I'm going home," House said, nodding when he said 'that' to emphasize his point.

"You haven't slept at all either, you know. Driving _probably_ isn't the smartest course of action," Cuddy told him. It was just an excuse, really. She didn't want him to leave yet though it was already five o'clock in the morning – he had to be exhausted and he had had an even busier night since he had actually done the diagnosing.

House exhaled. "Cuddy, I personally don't have a problem with rumors. Hell, I start a good portion of them then get Chase to start a betting pool and when everyone is proven wrong I get my 50% cut. You on the other hand, make that 'I'm more mature than you' face when I even mention your ass in front of a nurse."

"What's your point?" Cuddy asked, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I'm just thinking about all the rumors that are going to start up today about the two of us going to the fundraiser. I'm also thinking about how juicy those rumors are going to get when those nurse find you in a hospital bed and me still in my tux with you. And I have a funny feeling you _really_ don't want to deal with that right now."

He had a point, and it wasn't just about keeping House as her dirty little secret. She already had to deal with the drama behind the dean of medicine being poisoned – something she definitely wasn't looking forward to. But she didn't also want to deal with the drama that was bound to follow when people started to suspect. And news travelled fast around her hospital thanks to the infamous nurses' station – a new pool would go up in less than twenty four hours, Chase would pay a couple interns to spy on House and Cuddy so Chase could have an edge, then Human Resources would get involved, making up some crap about employees dating their subordinates or something…she didn't want to deal with that drama _just_ yet. If this worked, the drama would be inevitable and by then, she might even enjoy it. As for now, one piece of drama at a time. Today she was poisoned – that was enough story telling to go around for a while.

"I am _always_ thinking," House said, smirking, tapping his head. Judging by the expression on Cuddy's face she understood where he was coming from, but didn't like it very much.

"Fine. We do it your way, but I don't want to stay in this goddamn bed all day."

The smirk on House's lips instantly disintegrated. "The point of you staying here is to rest. What do you plan on doing, running around the hospital again in low cut tops and stilettos, tempting every male doctor?" He shook his head. "I don't think you're up for it."

"You don't really expect me to sit here all day, do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then you've lost your mind," she said, kicking the covers away angrily.

House rolled his eyes, getting out of the bed before she could. This woman was so stubborn. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to go to my office, find something decent to wear and find something constructive to do."

"At five in the morning?" House stared at her with a face full of cluelessness and disbelief. "I can't believe this. Someone tried to kill you. What part of that do you not understand?"

"Two people have been trying to kill you for the last two and a half months and I don't see you making a big deal out of it."

"This isn't about me," he deflected, knowing she was right. "I want _you_ to take it easy. _Then_ you can go back to terrorizing the rest of the hospital."

"If it was you, the last thing you'd be doing was staying in a bed all day. And I don't want to be sitting here so everyone can fabricate some sort of story about how I ended up here."

She had a point, and he had nothing to say to argue against that. He sighed heavily. "Fine…I'll take you home. Then you can sleep there, completely ignorant of all the wild stories the night nurses are going to pass on to the rest of the hospital." He then covered his mouth and stared at the ceiling in mock embarrassment. "Oops."

She rolled her eyes, knowing that what he said was true. Still, she didn't want to _be_ here when those rumors were flying around.

"Fine – but I have an exciting job for you to do first," she said mischievously.

House raised up one eyebrow skeptically. "And what exactly is this 'exciting job'?"

"I need you to go down to my office and get me something to wear…" unable to hide a smirk at House's childishly excited expression.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**Outside Cuddy's home…**_

"Hey," House said, nudging Cuddy. He had just parked outside Cuddy's home and was trying to wake her up. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had gotten into the car and he hadn't wanted to wake her up – she needed the rest.

"Cuddy," he said softly, trying to shake her awake.

"Go away…" she growled angrily.

"Come on, Cuddy, I can't drag you over there…"

She moaned in compliance, opening the door and stepping out of the car grudgingly with House quickly following. She didn't even bother to shut the car door behind her, instead, quickly making it to the front door and unlocking it. House quickly followed her, unable to suppress a smile, realizing just how sexy she looked in jeans and a sweatshirt.

Once inside, Cuddy collapsed on the couch, not bothering to move upstairs. House, still in his dress shirt and pants, dropped her keys off on the table and grabbed his own, already about to leave.

"Where are you going?" Cuddy asked, looking up at him from the couch. She sat up to watch him.

"I need to drop my tux off at my apartment and get ready for work – you know, that evil place you send me."

"You're going to work?!" she exclaimed. "You haven't slept at all! How are you going to even function--?"

"Relax," House said, smirking. "You know how good I am at taking naps on the job. And remember what I was saying about rumors? If I don't show up, what do you think that's going to suggest?" In all honesty, he didn't want to leave her at home. Whoever decided to poison his food the night before was adamant, and pretty good at his job – causing damage silently. However, he had rationalized that the accomplice wasn't after Cuddy – he was after House. She was safe, he wasn't. He obviously wasn't going to explain this to Cuddy, though.

"Go to the hospital late…I give you permission," Cuddy said, resting her head in her hands, looking up at him expectantly. He limped over and sat down on the couch beside her, causing a warm smile to find its way on Cuddy's lips. Without thinking, she rested her head on his shoulder, tucking her feet under her. She didn't even notice his hand wrap around her as they both drifted off into blissful sleep.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Where's Cuddy?" Wilson asked his friend as the two of them rode upstairs in the elevator.

"She's at her place," House answered in a distracted tone. Three hours ago, House had woken up from his early morning nap. He had left Cuddy, still fast asleep, on the couch and he had run off to his place to get ready for work. The last thing he wanted when he was already this tired was the third degree.

"She hasn't been discharged, has she?"

House rolled his eyes. "She's the dean of medicine. That's like telling the president that murder is wrong. People in charge don't have to follow rules."

"She still needs to be discharged. The president has people to cover his ass, Cuddy doesn't."

"Relax, Wilson. I discharged her. I was her physician, remember?"

"_You_ discharged her?" Wilson asked skeptically.

"Contrary to popular belief, I _can_ complete paperwork. I simply choose not to."

"_You_?" Wilson asked again. "You discharged her."

"She wanted to go home," House defended, as the elevator doors opened. The two of them walked down the hallway, towards House's office, where his team probably was already waiting if they had a case. If not, they better be occupying themselves, and he really hoped it was the latter. He didn't feel like thinking. He wanted to sleep.

"And out of the goodness of your heart, you did what she asked?" Wilson asked, in response to House's earlier defense.

"I figured she'd owe me later," House said, yawning.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"Wilson asked. House's team had left the hospital around one in the morning after they had figured out that Cuddy was poisoned. Wilson had left about half an hour after. But after talking to him for only a few minutes, Wilson realized that saying House was exhausted was an understatement. "When did you go home?"

"At five," House admitted as he drew his hand over his face.

"This morning?!" Wilson yelled just as the elevator doors opened.

"Well, it wouldn't make much sense if I went to be bed at five last night, now would it?" House deadpanned. "I slept for about three hours this morning," he finished as he walked into his office. Damn – his ducklings were already perusing a file. Oh, joy.

"Greta Cooper," Foreman started. "She's got synesthesia and she's starting some new project for the United States Air Force."

House, already ticked off with his lack of sleep, did not like where this was going. "You gave me only one piece of information I give a shit about – the synesthesia. I don't need to know her name or who she works for." He glanced at Cameron and Chase who were both sitting at opposite ends of the table. House started to look around for something as Foreman continued.

"She's offering the hospital $50,000 dollars to treat her completely off the books. No records, nothing. She doesn't was the Air Force knowing at all, thinks they won't take her for their new project."

"That should make this interesting," House said, still looking around. Wilson just stared at him, confused. House continued, "Means I can do what I'm good at – saving people without submitting useless paperwork….Ah ha!" House exclaimed as he found the meter stick he had been searching for. He lifted it up, smiling triumphantly while his team stared at him wondering what the hell the big deal was. House stood next to Chase and placed the meter stick on the table, measuring the distance between the two ends.

"Almost two meters," House said after measuring the space between Chase and Cameron. He then looked at Foreman. "Then it's official. Chase and Cameron have broken up, and just in time for me to collect my blood money." House made a childish, triumphant face as he held up his palm in front of Foreman. Foreman rolled his eyes and reluctantly dropped fifty dollars in his palm – he had honestly thought House had forgotten, especially with Cuddy's case last night. Apparently not.

"How's Cuddy doing?" Cameron asked suddenly, but there was no hint of concern. It sounded like she was asking because she thought she had to.

"Well, she's not dead, so--" House started.

"I mean how is she feeling?" Cameron said. "Is she better?"

House shrugged, picking up the file and scanning through it. "How should I know? I'm just judging her improvement from the fact that she's still _alive_. What else can 'better' mean?"

Wilson was shocked at this new turn of events. He had just admitted to him that he had spent hours at her bedside making sure she was fine for himself, discharging her, and then taking her home. And now he was telling his team he had no idea how she was doing. His team probably still thought she was in the hospital. He was telling the ducklings and Wilson two different stories, which means he was hiding something from them. The fact that he cared or was worried? Why would he hide that? Did he not want his team knowing that he cared? Too late for that, Wilson thought, remembering House's frustration last night.

"Well, I thought since you were dating--"

House was about to write the symptoms on the board but he abruptly stopped when he heard Cameron's comment. He turned around, squinting and frowning at all three members of his team, as if inspecting them. First at Foreman, who looked like he didn't give a damn, then Cameron who looked honestly interested now – no surprises there. But Chase hadn't said a single word, and he was perusing the file though he had probably already read it multiple times.

House grinned. Success! He pointed his cane accusingly at the wombat. "You!" he exclaimed, causing Chase to glance up at him.

"I didn't do anything," Chase whined.

"How big is the pot?" House asked, still smiling. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"So you're dating?" Cameron asked instead.

"I haven't even started a betting pool," Chase said, raising his arms up. "I'm innocent."

"You lie," House accused.

"So you're dating?" Cameron repeated.

House turned to look at her as if for the first time recognizing her presence. "What? No," he said quickly as if caught off guard before turning back to Chase. He was about to accuse him again but Wilson interrupted.

"Don't you guys have a patient?" Wilson brought up. This department alone had its own drama, and now with House screwing with them like that – it was a miracle they diagnosed anyone to begin with.

House frowned. "Why do you always do that? We were having a meaningful conversation."

"Since she's a frequent flyer it could be a leg clot that embolized to the brain through a PFO," Cameron said. House noticed her sudden change in attitude but didn't say anything. Time to take care of _that_.

"Foreman, get an EEG, MRI and an angiogram, Chase and Cameron, check the home for what she's hiding."

"I could run the tests, Foreman could--" Cameron started.

"You _could_ run the tests," House acknowledged. "But what type of role model would I be if I taught you not to confront your problems? Bye."

Cameron rolled her eyes but stood up angrily and the rest of his team followed. He limped towards his office, forgetting Wilson was still in the room with him.

"Why did you do that?" Wilson asked, following him. House sat down, resting his cane on the wall beside him and reached for his phone.

"Because I'm an evil sadist."

"No, not the Chase and Cameron thing. I mean, why did you tell them that you knew nothing of Cuddy's condition?"

"You're surprised I lied? If that surprises you then you really don't understand my capabilities."

"You lie if you want to screw with someone or if there's something you just don't want them to know. And admitting that you did know how Cuddy was doing would have been the perfect opportunity to screw with your team. Instead, you tell them you're clueless. And so the mind boggling question is why?"

"I need to make a call. Can we skip to the part where you walk out of my office in shame because I just threw your rationalizations in your face?"

Wilson continued anyway. "You didn't do it to mess with your team. In fact all you did was make Cameron a little happier. Which leaves only one other reason – you didn't want them to know. Which means you're trying to hide something…" Suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh my God – you're dating Cuddy."

"No, I'm not," House said. It _technically_ wasn't a lie. Okay, yes it was, but still…

"But something's changed," Wilson pressed on. When House didn't say anything Wilson waved his hand, practically begging for additional information. "Tell me!"

"You act like a sixteen year old girl."

"You're hiding something, means something happened. What happened?"

"I ate her tongue for breakfast," House blurted suddenly.

Wilson quickly translated his remark to regular English and his eyes widened even more. "You _kissed_ her?" he mouthed to keep himself from yelling.

"Stop being such a drama queen," House chastised, rolling his eyes.

"This is serious. You know that, right?"

"I am aware. Now leave – I've enabled you for long enough, I need to make a phone call."

Wilson stood up, ready to leave and House stared after him. "That's it?" he asked, surprised.

"What's it?"

"I told you to leave and now you're leaving. No lecture, no speculation?"

"I think you can handle this, House," Wilson told him. And that was the truth. For some strange reason (or maybe he was just insane), he was sure House could handle this, because he _wanted_ this. Last night had proven that. "Talk to her."

Wilson left and House picked up the phone again to make his call. He _did_ want this, but he wasn't sure if he'd screw it up...or how for that matter. He had an uncanny gift of messing things up that were working, and the last thing he wanted to do was apply this useless and damaging gift. Wilson thought he could handle it – but House wasn't so sure.

He sighed and dialed Weston's number. It was time to send her an update regarding the latest event.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**3 PM**_

House had slept for an hour in the clinic definitely a record. Usually he only got in fifteen minutes before a nurse found out he was sleeping and tattled on Cuddy, half an hour if he was lucky. The full hour, however, was barely enough to keep him going considering he had slept a total of four hours out of twenty four. And after waking up, he couldn't get back to sleep. He was too busy thinking about his meeting with Ethan in five days, the worry Weston had expressed after realizing that the accomplice was doing a good job keeping dibs on him.

And he had been thinking about Cuddy.

Sighing, and tired of thinking, he opened the door, ignoring the dozens of patients waiting for a doctor in the clinic and on his way to his office. He looked over in the direction of Cuddy's office. He stopped instantly, rolling his eyes. Guess who couldn't keep away from her baby.

He quickly limped over to her office, not bothering to knock. She wasn't doing anything important, he told himself. Just paperwork.

"What are you doing here?" House asked immediately.

She held up one of her papers. "I have work to do; I can't just stay at home and do nothing. I'm going to go crazy."

House smiled. "You can't even spend a few hours away from your baby," he joked.

"It's not that…I don't even _want_ to be here," Cuddy whined, dropping her papers. "Most of the nurses already know that I was poisoned and they won't stop talking. I don't have too much of a problem with that, but I just…" she sighed, dropping her hands to her side. "I just want a break. But I can't stay at home because I'll get restless."

She noted House's worried expression and quickly tried to make amends. "I don't know, maybe…I just might be tired…"

"When was the last time you had off?" House asked.

_Christmas_? she thought to herself, but she didn't say that. "I'm fine, House--"

"What you need," he said, helping himself to a chair, "is to do nothing constructive all day. That's how _I_ stay sane."

"I can't just do nothing, House," she told him, raising an eyebrow. "I need to…send memos, balance accounts--"

"Which can all wait until tomorrow."

"No, not all of them, they--"

"Tell everyone you were sick," House suggested, getting up on his feet. "It's not a lie."

"I can't just--"

"Yeah, you can," House said, honestly smiling. "And I'm going to prove it. Where are your keys?"

"What?"

"Unless you want to ride my bike," House warned her.

"I can't go anywhere!" Cuddy half whined in frustration. God, this man… She didn't realize she had left her keys lying on the table and in a flash, House had swiped them from her desk.

"House!"

"Meet me at your car in a couple minutes," he said simply as he limped out of her office. "And take your stuff!"

"But I--"

Her words were lost to the air, however and fell on nonexistent ears. House was already out the door and making his way toward the parking lot.

She knew she had a choice. So what House could take her car? He didn't have much choice but to bring it back. The responsible part of her mind told her to stay and get at least _something_ done, but another part of her – a large majority – wanted to abandon reason and follow him. Without weighing her options properly, she grabbed her purse and half dashed out of her office.

**Hey friends! So first of all, I want to thank **TrebleMaker **for some plot ideas – I don't want to reveal too much of it because I haven't completely expanded on her idea yet but here's my shout out! Go check her out! She's writing a House FF so if you don't know about it go read it! ^_^ It's really good!**

**Second…REVIEW MA PEEPS! Any ideas? Where is House taking Cuddy? Where do you **_**want**_** House to take Cuddy? Suggestions? Hopes? Wishful thinking? Click that pretty green and white box right underneath and leave a review! **

**:)**


	25. Chapter 25: The Remedy

**First, I understand that the PRS 25****th**** Anniversary Dragon was NOT around back in season 3 of House. They probably didn't even have a prototype for the guitar or a design ready back then but I decided to mess with time because that's just how I roll! =D Enjoy anyway!**

**House me no own-ee**

Chapter 25

Though House had told Cuddy to wait a few minutes before joining him in the car as to quell any suspicions, he heard the passenger door open thirty seconds after he had already started the car.

"Someone seems eager," House said, putting the car in gear.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she put on her belt and dropped her purse on the floor.

"Far far away…" House said dramatically.

Cuddy breathed loudly through her nose but said nothing. House couldn't help but laugh. "Are you mad at me?" he asked, finding it impossible to fight off his amusement. "For taking you away from work? Most people would appreciate such a noble and thoughtful gesture--"

"Shut up."

"Come on. Where else do you want to go? What's the next best thing since the hospital's off limits?" When Cuddy didn't say anything for a few moments, House laughed. "Seriously? You can't figure out anything you'd like to do that has nothing to do with work?"

"I can!" Cuddy argued lamely. "I…just can't pick something right now."

House scoffed. "Yeah, right…If you don't pick a place to go, I will, and I promise you, you'll hate it."

Cuddy raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "You had a place in mind?"

"Princeton mall - I ordered a blue Paul Reed Smith 25th Anniversary Dragon."

"Okay…" Cuddy said slowly, these words having absolutely no meaning in Cuddy's mind.

"It's a guitar," House explained. Cuddy nodded and rolled her eyes. "So why didn't you just say that?"

"Because _guitar_ doesn't sound nearly as impressive as 'Paul Reed Smith 25th Anniversary Dragon'_. _And it cost me sixteen thousand dollars."

Cuddy's eyes widened from surprise and she was literally speechless for a few seconds. "You bought a guitar for sixteen thousand dollars?!" she exclaimed. "You can't even buy yourself lunch and you were willing to drop down sixteen grand for a guitar?"

House winced, thinking. "Well…" he started slowly. "I haven't paid for it yet. What you don't understand is that this is that the 25th anniversary of PRS isn't for a few years…so this guitar isn't even supposed to be on the market."

"Well, apparently it is on the market since people are selling it," Cuddy said. When House said nothing, his revelation hit him. "Oh my God, it's not on the market, is it?"

House grinned. "It leaked."

"How the hell does a single guitar leak?"

"Who cares? And it's not a single guitar that leaked – about a dozen of them did. The point is, I got it off an auction, so I'm going to go pick it up. I was going to get it after work but I might as well pick it up now."

Cuddy shook her head at how excited House was over a single guitar. He had a bunch at home anyway, what the hell did he need another one for?

"Told you wouldn't want to go," House said after some time, "So where do _you_ want to go?"

"Are you kidding?" she exclaimed, causing House to look at her for a moment before focusing on the road ahead of him. "You're willing to buy a single instrument for sixteen thousand dollars. I have _got_ to see this."

House grinned and signaled, making his way towards Princeton Mall.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

The manager of the small music store next to the main entrance of the mall made his way to the back to bring out the legendary guitar. Cuddy personally didn't see what the big deal was but was equally excited – not because of the guitar, but because of how excited _House_ was to pick it up. _Honestly, he looks like a third grader in a candy store_. She smiled.

"Here we are," the manager said, finally arriving after almost five minutes. He brought out a trench black guitar case and opened it up before pulling out the majestic electric guitar.

"Yes…!" House exclaimed as the manager handed it to him to try out.

It was impressive, even Cuddy thought so despite her subpar…er, nonexistent…knowledge of guitars. The body was deep, royal blue and the design printed upon the neck was a dragon. Yet, the design wasn't ridiculously loud or bold, but more subtle and elegant. Was it worth sixteen thousand dollars? In Cuddy's naive opinion, not really. But House seemed happy with it. Already, he was tuning it to his satisfaction. He looked up at Cuddy's bewildered expression.

"What?" he asked, not allowing her indifference to faze him. His tone wasn't harsh but more curiosity driven, slightly suspicious.

She shook her head. "Sixteen grand…" was all she said. It was enough.

"Yeah, and if you don't pay for it now I'm going to up the price…" the manager warned, wanting his money.

House put the guitar aside and dug into his inner jacket pocket. Cuddy was expecting him to insult the manager for his impatience but she was surprised when no jab escaped his mouth. _Hmm,_ she thought. _This Reed Smith Dragon…thing …this guitar has the potential to be a great source of leverage…_

Cuddy breathed in sharply when House slapped three wads of cash on the counter.

"What the…in cash?" Cuddy hissed.

"I'm only taking cash for this one," the manager told her, not bothering to make sure it was the correct amount.

"Who carries sixteen grand in their pockets anyway?" she whispered, leaning towards him angrily.

"Not me, that's for sure," House said, unable to hide a smirk. "You should have seen the teller at the bank when I asked for the withdrawal…"

Cuddy frowned, squinting at him. "Why…what did you do?"

House shrugged. "I…might have mentioned something about mary-jane, and I _might_ have popped a few Vicodin pills dry just to send a message across."

"House!"

"And _then_ the manager had to come over and I had to explain that Mary and Jane were my nieces who were both graduating from college so I wanted to surprise them and give them eight grand a piece…"

"Yeah, I'm sure he bought that," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes. She didn't really want to hear the rest of his story, anyway. She looked back at the guitar. "Well, it's nice to know all those paychecks I sign get spent on items like this." She nodded at the guitar the man was packing up.

"What? It's a valid and reasonable purchase," House defended as the two of them walked out of the store.

"You want to know what costs sixteen grand? Cars. Cars cost sixteen grand."

"But I already have one."

"You could have bought yourself a new, decent car with that money," Cuddy said, as she opened the trunk of her car. House carefully placed guitar inside. "Now I know that you at least _have_ the money. So why do you still have that piece of crap you call a vehicle?"

"Because it is a _functioning_ vehicle," House stressed, closing the trunk once he was finished. "Why should I get another one? Besides, I use my bike more often."

"So keep the bike and buy another car!" she exclaimed as she walked over to the passenger side of the car. Meanwhile, House was making his way back to the mall. He stopped abruptly once he realized Cuddy wasn't following.

"Where are _you_ going?" House asked.

Cuddy pointed behind her. "We're…finished…aren't we going back to the hospital?"

House shook his head emphatically. "No way, woman! We're at a mall…how could you possibly want to go back to work? There's got to be _something_ an administrator such as yourself can enjoy…"

She couldn't say no. Especially when he made a cute, face like that. She bit her bottom lip in mock contemplation but couldn't hold her pretense for long. In an instant, she was at House's side.

_**5 PM**_

"What did I do wrong?!" House exclaimed, though the grin on his face and his tone was proof that he knew exactly what he had done wrong. He just wasn't remorseful. He was carrying two bags of clothes that Cuddy had purchased in one hand and his cane in the other.

"You know what you did!" Cuddy said back. "You didn't have to make that poor assistant manager miserable…and practically wet himself!"

"He was being cocky," House defended. "It was my duty to show him his rightful place."

"Right, by threatening to tell his girlfriend he's cheating on her and saying that you were going to tell his boss that he was watching porn on the computers?"

"Well, is he supposed to be doing that? What would you do if you found out _I_ was cheating on you?"

Cuddy thought about it for a moment. "Cut off your balls."

"That seems to be your answer for everything. '_House is cheating on you? Cut off his balls! House is worrying too much? Cut off his balls_!'" He said everything in a high pitched, annoying voice that caused Cuddy to splutter in laughter. "Really, Cuddy…it gets old."

"I don't even talk like that!"

"That's what it sounds like to me every time you tell me 'no' and then explain why."

Cuddy swiftly smacked his shoulder, causing House to cringe slightly. "Ow…!"

She pointed at him threateningly, wagging her finger as if scolding a child. "I can hurt you, you know. Don't test me. And give me that!" she quickly grabbed her bags from his hand and sauntered off like a child throwing a fit.

"Hey, where are you going?!"

"I'm mad at you!" she yelled back simply.

"Hey!" House said, finally deciding to negotiate, he managed to catch up and took her hand, stopping her. "Okay fine, I'll be good." At this he made an innocent looking face that managed to get her to smile. "And…I won't even say a word. Next store we go in, I won't say _anything_."

She frowned, inspecting him to find a hint of sarcasm. "You won't say a single word?" This could be interesting…

"Nothing," he promised.

"And if you _do_ say something…I'll make you return your precious guitar."

House's face fell thirty stories. Cuddy laughed at his expression – you would have thought you had just told him his mother had died with a face that looked like that. "Okay, okay! I won't take your guitar…I'll think of another punishment."

He sighed, relieved. "That wasn't very nice. Don't ever threaten her again!"

"You're never nice! And your guitar is a girl?"

"Psh…well, I couldn't make it a _guy_…" Then through the side of his mouth, he muttered, "That would be weird…"

Cuddy waved off the topic. "Okay, how about this. You say anything…a single word, House! If you say anything then…" she grinned, as the idea came into her head. "Then you need to call Wilson and tell him that you appreciate him for always being there for you."

For a moment, Cuddy wasn't so sure which one of the two punishments he would take – sacrificing his guitar or confessing his feelings. His face looked equally pained when she suggested her second idea.

"What the--!" House started.

"Hey, it's either the guitar or Wilson. Pick one!"

House whimpered. "You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Of course I am."

"Fine, my turn," House announced. "If I _do_ stay quiet the entire time then…" House eyes lit up like a thousand white bulbs and Cuddy suddenly wasn't so sure if her designated punishment would be harsh enough. "If I say nothing then we're going to Victoria's Secret and _I_ get to pick out a matching set of panties and bra!"

Yup. Her punishment _definitely_ wasn't harsh enough. "Hell, no!"

"Uh-uh! No take-backs. You already picked your weapon and now I've picked mine. _I'm gonna wi-in!"_ House sang childishly.

"I am _not_ going to let you pick out my underwear," Cuddy warned him, whispering in his ear.

House simply nodded. "Yeah. I am. When I win! Lead the way, mistress!"

Cuddy sighed loudly and walked into the nearest department store. She was going to have to win this bet – her sanity depended on it. House gladly followed, determined.

_**Half an hour later**_**…**

_3…2…1…_ House held up the respective fingers each second they made their way closer to the exit of the store until they had at last stepped out.

"Victory!" House exclaimed, waving his cane around.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. She couldn't quite believe House had gone half an hour without saying a single word. And she had been certain he was going to break when one of the cashiers started complaining about her love life, her mother and her last three ex boyfriends. She was a teenager and Cuddy knew House wanted to tell her to shut up but he refused to say a single word, instead making funny faces behind her back and pantomiming.

"So…where's the nearest Victoria's Secret?" he asked, looking this way and that.

"Mmm…let's eat first, I'm hungry," Cuddy quickly said as they approached the food court.

"Not so fast!" House said, pointing just down the hall with his cane. Cuddy rolled her eyes when she read the name of the store. She had the most rotten luck.

"Don't look so disappointed! As soon as we're done here I'll buy you all the food in the world! But not too much…wouldn't want you to not fit into your panties all of a sudden."

"Ha ha ha…" Cuddy said dryly as she reluctantly walked into the store.

"Oooh! This one!" House practically squealed, limping towards a rack of panties. Cuddy dashed after him, praying he wouldn't make a scene.

"I don't care," Cuddy hissed. "Just pick something so we can get out."

"Don't rush me," he whined, replacing the pink panties. If she was going to rush him like this then he'd just be extra slow, now wouldn't he?

"What about this one….or this one…or this one…?"

"Stop it and just--"

"Ah ha!" House exclaimed, startling a few people around them. He lifted up his fine, a pair of red and lacy panties.

"Yeah, sure, can we go now?" Cuddy begged.

"No, I have to find a bra to match!"

"You know, they have sets. Just pick up a set and we can go."

"But that's no fun!"

At that exact moment, House's cell phone started ringing and from the ring tone, he could tell that it was House's team.

"Hello?"

"Uh….House?" Foreman asked hesitantly. It was the first time in months House hadn't answered with the regular, "What!"

"What?" House asked.

House could practically see Foreman and the rest of the team nod, realizing that their boss wasn't in any particular mood.

"We've got elevated red blood cell count," Cameron spoke up. "We guessed carbon monoxide poisoning due to a broken gas fireplace in her home. We put her in a hyperbaric chamber but she had a heart attack."

"Nice…" House said, lifting up red bra. Cuddy slapped her forehead and closed her eyes. She was going to kill him if he didn't hurry up.

"The heart attack?" Chase asked.

"Hmm…what?" House asked Chase, not really paying attention to him.

"Carbon monoxide poisoning, hyperbaric chamber, heart attack," Foreman reminded him.

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" House asked.

"We did…"

"Takayasu's syndrome," Cameron suggested.

"Not without a rash and a fever," Chase said. "Whipple's."

"But no abdominal pain," Foreman pointed out.

"Cardiomyopathy," House said, as he lifted up the bra he decided he wanted. "Structural abnormality causes the heart attack and throws clot to the brain, leading to synaesthesia. Go do a transeosphageal echo and don't bug me again unless she's dying."

"But she _is--_"

"Where's Cuddy?" Cameron quickly blurted before House had time to hang up.

That definitely stopped him. "Why do you want to know where Cuddy is? I'm not doing anything illegal! A transeosphageal echo is perfectly safe!" One of Cuddy's eyebrows rose up, wondering what he was talking about after hearing her name.

"No, I'm just wondering…she wasn't in her room," Cameron started.

"Did you check…gee…I don't know…her _office_?"

"She's been discharged?"

"Yeah, this morning, I think. If she asks where I am, tell her…my mom died," he decided.

House quickly hung up and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "Finished!" he announced to Cuddy, holding up the set he had finally chosen. Cuddy quickly forced his hand down.

"Okay. Fine, you picked something, let's go now."

House smirked as he went over to the cashier to pay. He decided to make the cashier's job easy and didn't say a single word. No insults, no sarcasm, no asking the cashier if she would willingly wear the set he had just picked out. Cuddy had suffered enough, he decided.

"Happy now?" House asked as they left and started towards the food court.

"Purely ecstatic," Cuddy said sarcastically, causing House to chuckle at her expression.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

An hour later, Cuddy walked through the front entrance of the hospital. Not one person was suspicious – after all, she walked in with a cup of coffee and obviously in a hurry. House on the other hand, came in from the back of the hospital. He wasn't even in sight.

"It's Von Hippel Lindau," Chase announced, once House reached his office.

"Where have you been?" Cameron asked him.

"Boob job showed cysts?" House asked, talking to Chase. Earlier, House had decided to do an exploratory surgery to see what was wrong with her lungs and in order to make NASA not suspicious, they put it in the paper work as a boob job. Pure genius in House's opinion…after all, he had thought of it.

"Three of them total. One of them was a pheochromocytoma – caused the synaesthesia and the heart attack."

"Where were you?" Cameron repeated.

"You!" House exclaimed pointing at her with his cane. "You need to start focusing on cases more often. Otherwise, you're pretty much useless to me and you're going to be out of a job." Then to Chase he said, "You thought of Von Hippel Lindau?"

Chase shrugged but nodded.

"That's a very nice idea," House said, smiling as he left the room. Cameron rolled her eyes but Chase seemed pleased with himself.

_**Cuddy's Office **_

Wilson wasn't very eager to badger Cuddy just yet about everything – the poisoning, House…but he couldn't help it. It was what he did, and she hadn't been at the hospital for hours now. Badgering was necessary procedure during situations like this.

"Where have you been?" Wilson asked once he entered her office. She looked like she had just gotten here. Coffee cup in her hand, just about to sit down, but something was different. She…looked like she was in a relatively good mood.

"Hi, Mom," Cuddy said simply.

"Your phone's been ringing off the hook, everyone's been looking for you, and if this was your plan to try and hide what happened to you yesterday, it definitely failed. I think the entire hospital knows now."

"Okay," she said, showing complete apathy. Right now, she didn't really care if everyone knew she had been poisoned.

Wilson blinked a few times. What was with the lack of emotion? "Where _have_ you been?"

"Out," she said simply, walking out of her office.

"You want to know what House told me?" Wilson goaded. Actually, House hadn't told him anything because he hadn't seen him yet but he asked the question to see Cuddy's reaction. And her reaction was enough for him. Her ears perked up and she looked at him, honestly curious but still saying nothing. Wilson snapped his fingers. "Ah ha! So it had something to do with House!"

"Shut up!" Cuddy exclaimed, leading him to an elevator. She quickly shut the doors behind them so that it was only the two of them in the elevator and turned to face Wilson. "Okay. Yes, I've been with House all day! You happy now?"

"Where did you go?" Wilson asked, honestly curious.

"We went to Princeton Mall. He picked up a guitar that he had ordered and he followed me around shopping." She was careful not to mention Victoria's Secret though. Wilson may be House's best friend but he definitely didn't need to know about _that_.

"So…like a date?"

She was about to answer but she closed her mouth abruptly. She hadn't really thought about it like that but now as she thought back, it really was a date. "Yeah…yeah, it was a date." Wow. She had been on a date with Gregory House. And she hadn't even realized it.

"And he bought everything?"

Cuddy thought of his $16,000 guitar but didn't mention it, knowing Wilson was demand all the money House owed him immediately. The dresses she had bought, the shoes. She smiled. "Yup. He paid for everything."

"So…what else?" Wilson asked.

"What do you mean what else? That's it."

Wilson shook his head emphatically. "With House there's always more. It's never that simple."

"Actually, Wilson," Cuddy said as the doors opened, thinking about the last few hours. "Sometimes it is."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

After work, House and Cuddy drove down to House's apartment to drop off the guitar. Once inside, House rested his new prized possession on the couch and looked around the wall where the rest of his guitars rested.

"So where do you want to put this one?" Cuddy asked, also staring at the wall.

"I…have no idea," House said. "And right now it doesn't really matter because I don't feel like hanging it up there anyway."

"Whoa, let me get this straight," Cuddy said stopping him before he could limp away. "You bought a guitar that's not even supposed to be on the market for sixteen grand and you don't intend to play it?"

"If I played it then it would get ruined!"

"I don't get you," she said, poking him in the chest. "The least you could do with something that expensive is _use_ it."

"It's a practically priceless guitar!" House argued.

"Yeah, well, the guy working at that store had no problem sticking a price on it," Cuddy pointed out, smiling at House's pout. Out of the blue, she told him, "Thanks…for today. I had fun." And she had. They hadn't done anything most people would call super exciting, but it had been a while since she had done, as House liked to put it, nothing constructive. And boy, she could get used to it. Especially when she was doing nothing constructive with him around.

House nodded, smiling ever so slightly. "Good," he said, and he kissed her on the lips once. "Told you it's not so hard." He kissed her again but Cuddy took his face in her hands before he could lean away, kissing him back deeply. His arm wrapped her waist and he let go of his cane, caressing her cheek. She continued to lean toward him until he was forced to take a few steps back and his back hit the wall behind him. They were kissing now with increasing frenzy, the fabric between them becoming stifling and oppressive. His jacket came off first, falling to the floor and her fingers found the buttons of his shirt…

**And it was all a hallucination – NOT! I promise, guys, it's not. And here begins my contemplation….**

**To smut or not to smut? I'm leaning towards not but if you guys REALLY want it and manage to convince me I might change my mind. Or if someone is willing to write it for me... Seriously guys, if I write it it's going to suck so I'm too scared to try. If you want it and want to write it, PM me and we'll figure something out ;)**

**Oh, and if there are typos, my bad. It's one in the morning over here and I have school tomorrow! Oops…**

**So what do you do know? Why, you click that pretty looking green and white button right underneath here and leave me your opinion/review, that's what! REVIEW! SEE YA! **


	26. Chapter 26: Feelin' Alright

**After a long period of contemplation…okay, about two and a half minutes of contemplation…I decided – NO SMUT. For those of you who wanted it, sorry guys. But most people didn't seem to care or didn't even cast a vote (which to me translated to 'I don't really care, surprise me'). So I'm surprising you…well, I guess it's not really a surprise anymore because I just told you…ahhh, the heck. Just read! I hope you like it anyway!**

**House me no own-ee**

Chapter 26

Cuddy's eyes slowly cracked open as sleep finally left her. For a moment, she refused to move, her mind not yet fully catching up. She wasn't in her bed, she remembered as she looked around without moving her head. A corner of her lip twisted upwards in a small smile when she finally turned her head and her eyes fell on House's face. He was still asleep, lying on his side. His mouth agape slightly and his hand resting on her stomach under the covers. She refused to get out of the bed, watching him as his chest rose and fell steadily and the side of his mouth twitched every now and then. Her eyes fell on the light colored line that ran down the middle of his chest – the scar from the surgery when they had removed the bullet in his lung so many weeks ago. Her finger rested lightly on the beginning of the scar in the middle of his chest and ran down its entire length. Her eyes fell on the similar lines that decorated his arm. The lines were so faint now; they looked like someone had drawn them in with a pencil. Again, she placed her finger on one of the lines and looked up at his face. She traced his jaw line, hairline, the shape of his face. Despite the scars on his body, Cuddy didn't think she knew anyone more handsome…and cute. She smirked, wondering how he would react if she said he looked 'cute'. Her finger made her way towards the lips she had kissed so frantically the night before.

She could have stayed in that bed with him forever until he woke up…but she needed to at least start getting ready for the day ahead. She slowly shifted underneath his arm, trying not to wake him. She shouldn't have tried so hard; House was a deep sleeper. Cuddy slipped her feet from under the covers and they landed quietly on the cold, hard wooden floor beneath. Wincing, she got out of the bed completely and tip toed to the closest pile of clothes scattered across the floor and grabbed the first thing she saw. It was House's blue, un-ironed dress shirt. She slipped it on, buttoning only a couple buttons and stepped out of his room towards the bathroom. Once inside, the first thing she started to look for was a spare toothbrush.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House woke up to an empty bed. It took him a moment to fully comprehend what that meant. Had she simply gone home? To work? And without waking up? He was disappointed and uncertain whether or not he should feel so. He heard a sharp pang coming from outside his room and running water from the kitchen sink and immediately felt embarrassed for thinking she had already left.

Wait a minute, rewind and play…he felt e_mbarrassed_? God, look at what this woman was doing to him.

Before he even moved his feet, he grabbed the Vicodin bottle next to his bed, popped the cap open and swallowed a pill dry. For the first time, he felt something on his head that moved when he moved. He reached up to find what was on his forehead and a single slip of paper fell to his side. It was a sticky note.

_Brush your teeth before you come looking for me, you bastard. Or you'll starve._

He laughed quietly and stuck the note to the side of his bed. After waiting for a minute or so, he slid both his feet out from underneath the covers, the spasms in his right leg acting up almost immediately due to the sudden movement after hours of dormancy. He massaged his thigh for a few minutes and without looking, reached out to grab his cane. Instead, he grabbed at thin air and he frowned turning to look for it. He sighed, his lip twisting upwards as he remembered – it was in the living room where he had dropped it last night.

He stood up and limped towards his closet looking for something to put on before he brushed his teeth like a good little boy.

_**10 minutes later…**_

He kicked the bathroom door open and picked up his cane lying next to the door, limping towards Cuddy in the kitchen. She had her back towards him pouring something into a cup. The best part of it was the fact that she had House's shirt on – the one he had been wearing yesterday. It was huge on her and covered only part of her thigh.

She jumped a little, smiling when she felt his hand's wrap around her waist and his warm breath on her neck.

"Hey," he said, kissing her neck.

"Good morning to you too," she said, trying to finish the task ahead of her – and failing.

"You look so hot in my clothes," he growled, kissing her neck, his hands slipping from her waist towards her thigh.

"Greg…" she moaned, finding it increasingly difficult to resist. "I'll spill it on myself…"

"Oh, so now you say no? After having your fun with Little Greg last night? I feel used."

She twisted her head back so her lips met his. "You know I can't say no to you, right?" she said when she finally took in a breath.

House smirked, already leading her back into the bedroom. "Of course you can't."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"We should get ready soon," Cuddy said, breathing into his chest. Again, she found herself tracing the patterns on his body and memorizing the shape it took.

"It's your hospital," House whined, not necessarily eager to leave his comfort zone.

"It's your department," Cuddy countered. "If you want I could always put Foreman in charge."

House scoffed. "He'd like that – he's such a power hungry maniac."

Cuddy laughed. "Wonder where he gets _that_ from." Her eyes fell on the scar down his chest again and quickly moved her gaze to his beautiful blue eyes. House, on the other hand, couldn't help but think of how she deserved someone better. Someone who could walk at least three meters without grappling for a cane or sticking his hand in his pocket for his latest stash of Vicodin. Someone who was nicer and could treat her like the angel she was. Someone who hadn't been hacked into pieces by some crazy psycho.

"What?" Cuddy whispered, when she realized he was in deep in thought. House simply shook his head slightly. "Nothing."

"Tell me."

He was hesitant to say anything at all, but knew it was the least he could do…what he _should_ do. At least be honest with her. Her hand was still on his chest and he held it there so her index finger lay on the scar. "Is it that bad?" he asked her.

Cuddy shook her head, unsure. "I don't know…what you mean…"

"When you look at me, do you always see this?" He shifted his arm so she could see the marks on his arm as well. _Do you see brokenness?_ That was his real question and Cuddy easily understood.

"When I look at you…" Cuddy started, not even sure where to begin. "When I look at you, I see your blue eyes that never lie to me…even if your lips try to. I can see almost everything's that's going on in your crazy head through your eyes – I can tell if you're worrying, obsessing, deviously scheming…When I look at you, I don't need to worry about tomorrow or the next five minutes, but I look forward to spending it with you. I laugh more, I cry more when I'm around you…You drive me nuts, and sometimes I don't know how much more I can take. But these…" She traced the scar again. "These remind me how close I was to losing you. And I don't ever want to be reminded again."

"You won't be reminded," House told her, vowing to himself he'd never cause her that pain again. Never make her worry for him like that again, to endure that hurt. "Promise."

She leaned towards him to kiss him. "Don't mean to spoil the moment," she said when she leaned back. "But you have some snotty nosed kids to attend to."

"Don't remind me," House said, rolling his eyes.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cameron, Chase and Foreman were examining their latest case – a thirty seven year old male with spinal muscular atrophy who had suddenly passed out in the middle of the street, his service dog next to him. Already, they were bouncing a few ideas back and forth but quickly stopped when they heard a familiar voice making a not so familiar, beautiful but slightly terrifying sound (considering its source).

"_Imprisoned by the way…it could have been,_

_Left here on my own or so it seems,_

_I've got to leave before I start to scream…_"

House opened the door to the differential room, still singing. "_But someone locked the door and took the--"_ He stopped singing suddenly and stared at the blue folders all members of his team were holding. Immediately, his good mood plummeted. "What the hell?! We had a patient yesterday! This means I'm exceeding my one patient per week quota."

"Thirty seven year old male with spinal muscular atrophy," Foreman said, handing him a file.

House took it, but not very willingly. "Spinal muscular atrophy is a _diagnosis_, Foreman. Does that mean I can go home now?"

"Wilson's convinced it's something you'd enjoy. Patient passed out in the middle of the street all of a sudden."

"Oh, so Wilson said it's a case. Well, that makes sense, considering he's department head of infectious disease. Wait, a minute…" House said, frowning and placing his index finger on his chin in mock contemplation. "Oh, right, that's me!"

"Maybe it's the dog," Foreman suggested. "Dogs put everything in their mouths and the dog gives everything to the patient."

"Patient took a trip to Thailand a couple weeks ago," House pointed out.

"What does that have to do with the dog?"

"It doesn't. And stop blaming the dog – what it did ever do to you?" House said sarcastically.

"So…maybe the patient picked something up at Thailand," Cameron said out loud, perusing through the file.

"A threadworm," Chase decided. "Maybe strongyloides."

Foreman wasn't so sure. "Those usually go up your feet and considering he's stuck in a wheelchair…"

"But someone must have laid him on the sand maybe even on his back," Cameron defended on Chase's behalf. "Increased exposure."

She looked up at House to see if he would agree. He did, but he was too busy observing his team's interaction. Cameron and Chase – the long lost fake lovers…were agreeing. Without saying a word, he went behind the whiteboard to retrieve his meter stick. Immediately, the rest of his team knew exactly what he was trying to prove. Foreman laughed, Cameron rolled her eyes and Chase seemed disinterested. Again, he measured the distance between Cameron and Chase. The distance was much shorter than last time.

"Hmmm…" House said, tapping his chin with his index finger a few times. "See? I told you that sticking you in the same room would force you to confront your psychotic issues!"

"Actually…all you did was make us check the last patient's home," Chase corrected.

House rolled his eyes dramatically. "Same _thing_…go de-worm our patient." He threw his file on the table as his team quickly filed out of the room to do as they were told. Just as they did, his office began ringing and House quickly limped over to the other room to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Dr. House, this is Detective Weston."

Oh, joy. "Oh?"

By now, Weston was used to House's one liners. "Oh", "what", and "okay" meant hurry up and finish talking because I really don't feel like listening anyway. If his responses were longer than five syllables, he was truly interested.

"I know you're probably busy right now, so I'm going to keep this short. We've finally scheduled a time for the meeting with Ethan for two thirty in the afternoon at the police station downtown. We've already started investigating everything he's telling us about his past victims and verifying the information so we know his part of the bargain is sealed first."

"And his accomplice?"

Five syllables – interest was sprouting. "He hasn't told us anything about his accomplice – only hinted at the notion. We think he wants to disclose that information solely to you."

"Well that makes everything that much more exciting, doesn't it?" House said sarcastically.

Weston was _supposed_ to be professional, but she sighed in agreement. "Dr. House, should we only be expecting you or is someone going to come as well?"

Lisa. She was the first person who came to his mind when Weston asked that question and she was sure Cuddy wouldn't mind coming either – she'd probably want to come. "I think…Lisa will come…"

"Dr. Cuddy?" Weston asked, just to make sure. She had never heard House call her by her first name.

"Yeah." House picked up his tennis ball and started throwing it against the wall. It bounced back and he repeated the cycle. He heard his door open and looked up to find Wilson walking in. House rolled his eyes and mouthed 'Go away!' Wilson refused to follow his instructions.

Weston continued anyway. "For the meeting with Ethan he explicitly stated that he wanted you alone in the room. There will still be a guard inside the room at all times but Dr. Cuddy wont' be able to--"

"Sure, no problem…" House interrupted as Wilson eyed him suspiciously. "Listen, I have to go…I just got a page. I'll see you in a few days. Bye."

"You'll see who in a few days?" Wilson asked, his curiosity spiking once House had hung up.

"Satan. I did one of those 'when will you die' tests online and my date with the devil himself is next week."

"Was it Cuddy?" Wilson asked, expecting his guess to be wrong.

"No…the devil is Lucifer. Cuddy's just his messenger."

"I meant on the phone," Wilson corrected.

"Actually, it was Weston," House said. Wilson's curiosity still remained however knowing that he would be telling the truth – he'd never use Weston as a lie. That would mean talking about Ethan and House never wanted to do that.

"Oh? What did she say?"

"Stop pretending you care…I can read right through you. What do you want?"

Wilson raised up his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine. I wanted to know…how…you're date was yesterday."

"What date?" House asked, playing dumb as he left his office. Wilson followed him.

"I heard you paid for everything – the food, her clothes…"

"Well apparently you _do_ know how my date was yesterday; which means that's not what you _really_ wanted to know. Come on, Wilson! Spit it out! The suspense is killing me!" He used his cane to press the elevator button.

"She came into work today looking…" Wilson struggled to find the word. "She was…_glowing_. Happy. She was happy."

"You think I might have something to do with that?" House asked questioningly pointing at himself as if he wasn't so sure. Wilson followed him into the elevator and House frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Depends. Where are _you_ going?"

"Hell…I told you I had a meeting with Satan."

"I thought your meeting with Satan was in a few days."

"It takes a while to get to the darkest pit of hell. And this cane only slows me down, remember?"

"Okay, I'm done playing this game, seriously, where are you going?"

"Clinic," House said simply. When Wilson said nothing in response, he turned to look at him. "What? You think I'm actually going to see patients?"

The doors opened and House and Wilson stepped out together – the first defensive, the latter suspicious yet certain.

"Yes, I think you actually will see the patients," Wilson said simply as he made his way in the opposite direction before House could say anything. House simply rolled his eyes and mimicked his annoying tone behind his back before grabbing a patient file and calling him to Exam Room 1.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy was sure that absolutely nothing could ruin her day. Was it always like this when she had been dating someone? No, it had _never_ been like this with anyone else. Back when she had been in the dating scene, there had been unofficial and unwritten rules to follow, social contracts to maintain, society's standards to match up to. It was never real because she wasn't given the chance. But with House…even before they had become serious, there had been that element of chaos that was, ironically, comforting. There _were_ no rules when talking with House or being with him. Whenever she yelled at him, exchanged harmless banter or defended her stance on why a patient needed vital organs that House couldn't lop off, she felt some sort of excitement course through her body. Her senses were up and running, her wits at their best. Most people wouldn't have been able to handle it without slapping him across the face or breaking down, but Cuddy could. And she could do more than just handle it – she loved it.

She focused on the work ahead of her and even though the amount was daunting she was anything but overwhelmed. She felt like she could handle an entire wave of paperwork. At that exact moment, her office door opened and she glanced up from her work to find Wilson coming towards her.

"You slept with House," Wilson said simply.

Cuddy was caught by surprised and frowned a little at this. She expected him to try the small talk first – How are you? Are you busy? So how's your day been so far? Did you eat lunch yet? I heard this new restaurant opened down the street. Oh, did I mention that I think you had sex with House? Wilson jumping to the point was slightly out of character and made her guess he had already tried a similar tactic with House.

"A simple denial would work too," Wilson said, smirking.

Cuddy dropped the papers and stared at him with a sassy expression plastered on her face. "Who I sleep with is none of your business." She wasn't angry, her tone made that obvious. She was playing his game.

"You admitted it!" Wilson said, laughing. "_You_. Of all people. House didn't even tell me. I simply extrapolated from my observations." He was obviously pleased with himself.

"From what?" Cuddy asked.

"Well, besides the fact that you didn't deny it, there _also_ was the fact that you had that huge smile glued on your face when you walked in here."

"So I had a good coffee!" Cuddy said raising her arms. "What does me smiling mean?"

"This wasn't just any smile. This was a 'I just got _laid'_ smile." Wilson continued to laugh at her but Cuddy rolled her eyes and ignored him, allowing him to have his fun.

"What's House even doing now? Human testing or something?" Cuddy guessed.

"Actually, he's on clinic duty. Apparently sleeping with your employees has its perks."

Again, Cuddy eyed Wilson, her mood still just as bright as it had been a few minutes ago. The door opened again and Cuddy tilted her head to see who it was. She grimaced – apparently her mood _could_ get ruined.

"Mr. Heath…" Cuddy said, standing up to greet him. Wilson could practically taste the sarcasm dripping from her tongue and quickly excused himself so he wouldn't laugh right there and then.

Ryan Heath looked concerned. "Dr. Cuddy, are you alright? I heard you were poisoned, are you feeling better?"

"Uh…yes, I'm fine," Cuddy quickly said, wondering how he had found out about it. "Thank you though. Is there…anything in particular you would like to discuss?"

Ryan chuckled. "It's always straight to business with you, isn't it?"

_Just hurry up and tell me what the hell you want_. She didn't say that out loud, though. Instead, she chuckled in response, waiting for Ryan to tell her what he wanted.

"I'm still interested in investing," Ryan finally told her. "And I'd be willing to make my final statement at the next board meeting."

Now, _this_ was good news. A hundred million dollars – pretty much guaranteed. "I'd love to see that happen, Mr. Heath. Do you have a specific date in mind?"

"I was hoping next Wednesday, the eighteenth. My schedule is pretty packed for the next couple days. I know it's short notice but--"

"I'd love to set it up. I'll--" she quickly stopped, the date ringing a bell. The eighteenth, the eighteenth…that was the day House was meeting with Ethan. "Actually," Cuddy started. "That won't be possible…"

"Are you sure? I don't know if I'll be able to make it to--"

"_I _won't be able to attend on the eighteenth. I could still set up a board meeting for the date and they could cast their votes and opinions then, but I wouldn't be there…I have…a previous engagement."

"I'll just call in some other time and set up another date," Ryan reassured her, already turning to leave.

_That was fast_, Cuddy thought. "That's fine. Thank you."

And all of a sudden, Ryan wasn't even in the room. It was as if the room had suddenly filled with a poisonous gas and Ryan was just trying to get the hell out of there. What had been his problem? Cuddy didn't dwell on the issue for too long. After all, it wasn't like she really wanted him there anyway.

_**10:30 AM, PPTH**_

Their latest patient had to have beaten a record – fastest diagnosis ever. Foreman was about to discharge their latest patient and Chase and Cameron were on their way to the clinic to help out.

The last couple days had been slightly, okay, ridiculously awkward. They hadn't talked much except during differentials and in all honesty, Cameron was feeling guilty. Chase had left her, and it wasn't just the sex she missed. There was something else. Yes, she cared about him. So what? That wasn't too important was it?

At least, that's what she told herself a few days ago. Now she knew she had to do something to at least try and fix things. She was just worried she'd get blown off. God knew she deserved it.

"Um…" she started hesitantly as they walked towards the clinic. She sighed, telling herself just to spit it out. "Do you want to…go out to lunch?" she finally asked.

Chase looked surprised. "It's ten thirty."

"I know…later…"

"Why?" Chase asked, suspicious.

Cameron sighed. "Never mind."

"Just lunch?" Chase asked, just to make sure. "No running off to your place to…"

"No," Cameron said simply. "Just lunch. Look, I'm sorry for what happened at the fundraiser…"

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Chase interrupted. "Maybe you want to invite Foreman to lunch too?"

Cameron nodded slowly. So that was that – he didn't want to have anything to do with her. Just her. He was finished chasing her. "Sure. That sounds fine."

_**Cuddy's Office**_

"So did you hear the big news?" House asked as soon as he entered her office. He had one of the red lollipops from the nurses' station in his mouth.

"What news?" she asked, trying to hide how pleased she was to see him.

"About me and Ethan of course! Meeting's in a couple days."

"Yippee," Cuddy mumbled, definitely not looking forward to it. What she _really_ wanted to do was get House's cane and stick it up Ethan's ass. And whoever his partner in crime was.

"It's at two thirty next Wednesday. Are you coming?" House asked, pulling the lollipop out as he spoike.

"Of course I am…if…you want me to…" she hastily added, unsure. What if House didn't want her to come? She hadn't thought about that…she had just assumed—

"I do," he said simply. He glanced at the clock behind her. "What do you want for lunch?"

"It's ten thirty, House."

"So?" House asked, as if that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "I'll bring you something."

"I can just get a salad from the cafeteria."

"Fine…you wanna be boring? Help yourself. I'm going to stuff my face with something good and charge it on the hospital's account…"

"You're going to blackmail me into eating out?"

House shrugged. "Of course!"

"How can you even charge the hospital?"

House smiled broadly. "I have my ways…don't test me. So what do you want?"

Cuddy didn't even need to think about it. "Surprise me."

**Yeah, so the patient of the week took the pills and lived as well as the dog. So I messed with that particular episode…big deal! =P**

**In chapter 13, I told you guys that there would be a Ethan/House confrontation and I am very proud to say that that confrontation is coming up…in the next chapter!!! **

**I was thinking about it and I feel SOOO bad about making you guys wait for 14 additional chapters for the event I'm pretty sure EVERYONE was looking forward to! But I felt as if the wait was necessary – I wanted House and Cuddy to be together before the confrontation, not after (I don't know, it worked well in my head like that). I really hope I do the next chapter justice! **

**The song House is singing is Feelin' Alright by Huey Lewis**

**Please review and tell me what you think or what you would like to see in the next chapter! ^_^ Reviews are my motivation. To all my closet readers, please review! It doesn't take long! And appreciated writers update faster!**

**^_^**


	27. Chapter 27: Who Is It?

**Over 300 reviews guys! YAYYYY!!!! Thank you! **

**Haha, so some of you were telling me how nervous you were about the confrontation…well not as nervous as me! Really, I've got my fingers and toes crossed, hoping you'll like it. I know you've got high expectations and I really hope I reach those expectations if not, supersede them. So without further ado - THE 27TH CHAPTER! **

**Oh, and yes I am aware…took me a while to put this chapter up. I've been busy. Hope you enjoy it! House me no ownee!**

Chapter 27: Who is it?

For the past week, House and Cuddy had been taking turns regarding whose house they stayed in and they had no problems with the arrangement so far. At home - together - they were Lisa and Greg – they loved, they argued, pushed each other's buttons. At work, they were Cuddy and House, boss and employee. Also the couple that put on an amazing show because, apparently, no one at the hospital had figured out that House and Cuddy were dating. Well…except for Wilson obviously.

And of course, Wilson was doing a great job sticking it in their face, boasting that he had known this was going to happen. Cuddy and House's constant arguing and bantering made them seem more like an old couple rather than best of friends. And House would never go out of his way to argue for such an extended period of time if he hated the person – he'd just call you an idiot and get on with his life. But even though none of this had come as a major surprise to him, he would never cease to be amazed at how their relationship at work didn't seem to change at all. House would rush into her office demanding to…perform an exploratory surgery with little to no proof and Cuddy would shoot it down instantly, asking if he was insane and to go find him some real evidence. Banter, banter, banter and a few hours later, House would still get what he wanted. It was like a routine and it was almost impossible to tell that there was more going on between them. After all, House still avoided clinic duty and didn't see his patients until the last minute. Wilson couldn't figure out how they did it.

It was when they weren't at the hospital he saw it. If all three of them went out for lunch or were just talking casually, Wilson could see it what had changed. The way House looked at her – there was a newfound softness in his eyes. Smiles that rarely found their way on Cuddy's face were almost a natural occurrence. She laughed more, he smiled more. It was the little things that proved so much more. And House didn't want anyone knowing about it…just yet.

"If you tell anyone that I'm dating Cuddy then I'll tell everyone that you wear toe nail polish and use a curling iron on your hair," House had threatened Wilson.

Neither of those was true, but he didn't doubt House's ability to make his life miserable. But even House's ability to piss everyone else off had begun to diminish by April the 18th. He voluntarily attended the clinic, took up cases without giving them a second glance. He was keeping himself busy so that he didn't have to think about Ethan or his upcoming meeting. Now that the date approached, everything was put into perspective. He didn't even know what Ethan wanted to talk about. What would he say? What would he do? Did Weston verify the information Ethan had given them? Would Ethan talk about his partner?

Cuddy caught his uneasiness in its early stages, but of course, there was little she could do. No matter what she said or did, the worry was going to remain until the entire event was over. She understood that and gave him his space, but that didn't mean she had completely left him to battle it on his own. She was there for him, and she made sure he knew that.

And now it was time. Well, two hours before time at least. By now, he'd usually be downstairs in the cafeteria, mooching off Wilson. Instead, he was in Cuddy's office, throwing his tennis ball against the wall repeatedly while sucking on a lollipop. Cuddy had run off to finish something at the nurses' station and wasn't even aware that House was in her office. She walked in, completely caught by surprise.

"Have you at least had lunch yet?" Cuddy asked, ignoring the fact that he was throwing a ball at her wall.

"I'm not hungry," House said. He stopped throwing the ball so Cuddy could walk across the room without being hit. As soon as she was on the other side, he resumed his activity.

Cuddy understood that he was nervous, but she didn't like him skipping his favorite meal of the day – the one he never had to pay for. When offered free food, House was first in line and the fact that he wasn't mooching today showed the extent of his uneasiness.

"You're going to do fine, House." she told him, sitting down on the couch next to him. She said nothing more, understanding that all he really needed was her presence – for him to know that she was there for him.

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"I think you made a wrong turn," House said, pointing at a statue of some sort of abstract art. "We've passed that masturbating duck five times already."

"No, it's around here…I know it is…" Cuddy said, making another U-turn. She had decided to drive despite House's whining. He needed to clear his mind before the confrontation, and the least she could do was drive instead of him. Of course, he had complained and said something about her treating him like a child but Cuddy ignored him.

"How hard is it to find a damn police station anyway?" House told her.

"Well, I'm sorry I usually don't drive over to police stations," Cuddy said, equally frustrated. She didn't mind him being so touchy, but it was honestly starting to get annoying now.

House sighed, reading a few of the signs, hoping they'd give him directions. He should apologize. He wasn't being fair. But he didn't want to apologize…how hard was it to find a stupid police station anyway? _Don't be a dick_. "Sorry…I'm just on edge."

"It's fine," Cuddy reassured him, finally spotting the hidden police station. She rolled her eyes at its ridiculous location.

"You ready?" she asked once she had parked and pulled the keys out of the ignition. The car seemed deadly silent now that the engine wasn't running and the silence was almost intimidating.

"Let's find out," House said simply. Cuddy knew there was an internal battle going on inside of him that his outward expression hid well. But there was little else she could except offer her support. She squeezed his hand before unlocking the door. Both of them stepped out.

Detective Weston was already waiting for them at the entrance. House hadn't seen her in weeks, yet he immediately recognized her – a miracle in itself considering how bad he usually was at faces. Weston, knowing House would prefer to get straight to the matter at hand as opposed to wallowing in small talk for a few mindless minutes, exchanged greetings and led them towards the room where they were keeping Ethan.

"Ethan's currently in a holding cell but we'll be moving him to an observation room soon. A security guard will be in the room at all times and we'll be recording the entire encounter by microphone."

"And the allegations?" Cuddy asked as they whizzed by. "Regarding Ethan's victims? Were they true?"

Weston nodded solemnly. "Two victims, both confirmed. At least the families can have some sort of closure now."

They took a left down a narrower hallway and at the end, the three of them could see a security guard waiting outside one of the doors close to the end. This was it.

"He's seated and he's been handcuffed," Weston began quickly as they approached the room. "There's a security guard that will remain in the room at all times just in case and we'll be recording the conversation. We've also installed cameras and we'll observe everything in a separate room." She stepped past the security guard outside and unlocked the door. The room had no windows but the door had a glass, square window for passer bys to see through without entering.

Weston opened the door and walked in. She didn't close the door behind her completely, leaving an inch or so free so House and Cuddy could hear what she was saying.

"You know the rules," Weston told him sternly. "Try any funny business and I'll make your life hell."

"I'm already in hell," Ethan complained.

House hadn't forgotten his voice. He thought he had, hoped he had, but now that he was hearing it again after a two month hiatus, House realized Ethan's sadistic and innately brutal voice was ingrained into his mind. Just hearing it, brought him back to the point he had left so long ago – what the hell had he gotten himself into, coming over here?

"You think this is hell?" Weston said simply. "Believe me, I can make it a whole lot worse."

"Where's House now?" Ethan asked aggressively.

"He'll be in here in a minute."

"Is he out there right now?"

"Do you honestly think you're in the position to ask the questions?"

"I want to know if he's out there."

Weston rolled his eyes. "House?"

House could have simply yelled that he was there, or simply declined Ethan's latest demand and made him wait for a few more minutes before seeing him. Instead, House brought his hand toward the small window of the door and stuck his middle finger up in the air.

"Satisfied?" Weston asked sarcastically. She didn't wait for an answer. She opened the door a little wider and stepped out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind her. She was showing Ethan she was the one in charge. Ethan might try and put up his own demented illusion of power and control but Weston was holding the cards.

"Are you ready?" Weston asked, looking not only at House, but at Cuddy as well. This entire thing wasn't only going to affect him – she knew that.

"I'll give you two a minute," she said, leaving them. The security guard behind them followed.

"I know…" Cuddy started once they had left. "I know you don't want me worrying, but you know I can't help it, right?"

House wrinkled his nose. "You make it sound like I'm going to my death bed. Can't wait to see what you'll do at my funeral."

Cuddy made an equally repulsive face. "Hmm…I'm _pretty_ sure you're going to die first…motorcycle accident or what not…Or maybe something _really _interesting like you had a bet with Wilson on who could hold his breath the longest."

"Ha ha," House said dryly, rolling his eyes. "At least I'd win the bet."

"Yes, well, at least you've got that going for you. Dying in the name of a bet."

"I stand on principle," House said firmly.

Cuddy couldn't help but smile at that and wasn't entirely eager to switch the topic to the more pressing issue at hand. "Listen, don't do anything stupid in there, okay? Or I'll personally murder you."

"Well, that's no fun. Besides, I don't do 'stupid'."

"No, you do spontaneous, life threatening, completely ignore things like protocol and etiquette and do things without considering the repercussions. But you're right, that and stupid are two entirely different things."

"Mmm," House hummed. "Stupid implies that I don't know the repercussions. Stubbornness means I don't care about them. Now which sounds more like me?"

"Both," Cuddy answered without hesitation.

"That's the _wrong_ answer…" House said through the side of his mouth as if giving her a hint.

"No, it's the right answer. Seriously, House. Please. Don't do something stupid _and_ stubborn."

"Don't you mean 'or'?" House corrected. He turned when he heard Weston's heels approaching them from the end of the hall.

"What is it with women that are in charge and stilettos?" House asked.

"It instills fear in the men," Cuddy answered cheekily.

"That one was actually rhetorical."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "_None_ of your questions are _ever_ rhetorical."

"Ready?" Weston asked, as she opened the door to the room. House nodded once and followed her inside, finally looking at his captor for the first time in months. Just like that.

The first thing Ethan did was smile broadly. If House hadn't known any better, he would have thought he had won the lottery. Ethan's dark eyes deeply contrasted House's open, blue ones and looking into them was like looking into the darkest pit of hell.

Ethan's face fell almost suddenly, however, when he saw who was behind House.

"What's he doing here?" Ethan asked Weston, who was still in the room. Weston turned to see the security guard inside, waiting by the door.

"He's part of the deal," Weston said.

"No, you said I got to talk to House as long as I tried nothing funny."

"And this is how we enforce that."

Ethan shook his head stubbornly. "Forget it. The whole point of this is that I talk to him-" he nodded at House who was leaning on the wall twirling his cane "-alone. No guards. I'm handcuffed, what the hell can I do anyway?"

"Oh, shut up," Weston said, rolling her eyes.

"The guard goes, or no deal."

Weston weighed her options. So what there was no deal? They already had their information and yet, Ethan seemed to think cancelling the meeting was a viable threat, which meant he _actually_ had something to say.

She looked at House to see what he was willing to do. He simply shrugged, showing that he didn't care if the security guard was here or not. She looked back at Ethan and from her expression, Ethan could tell he had won.

"He's going to be outside," Weston said, referring to the security guard. "Three minutes, Ethan. Three minutes, and we're done."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Now what?" Cuddy asked. The two of them including another officer were in an observation room watching the scene before them about to unfold.

"We've got everything set up," Weston explained, pointing at the screens in front of them. "Cameras, microphones…if he says anything else or slips up, we'll catch it on tape."

"Why isn't he saying anything?" Cuddy asked. It had been only half a minute or so, but Ethan still hadn't said anything to House. And in a few seconds, she got her answer.

"You think I'm an idiot?" Ethan yelled loudly.

"Do you really want me to answer that question?" House asked back, rolling his eyes. He was still standing up, twirling his cane.

"Laura…! I know you can hear me!"

Weston pressed down a switch in front of the screen. "First, it's Weston. Call me Laura and I'll add six months to your time. We're not on first name terms."

Ethan rolled his eyes, "You call me Ethan. Besides, what's six months plus a life sentence?"

"Second, your three minutes are starting. Stop talking to _me_."

"I told you I'm not talking to him unless we're alone."

"You are."

"I want the microphones off."

"I want some cake for dessert."

"I want the microphones…off!"

"Forget it, Ethan," Weston said harshly.

"Yeah. Forget it, Ethan," House mimicked, taunting him. Cuddy wanted to hit him for not taking things seriously but realized that he was simply handling the situation – deflection that happened to be humorous, not to mention annoying and childish but whatever.

"I can tell if they're off too," Ethan confessed. "There's a red blinking light by the door attached to a wire that leads to a different room. It's a microphone. You can leave the cameras on, I don't care. But the microphones stay off."

_Damn!_ Weston thought angrily. He was right about the microphone. She couldn't lie, he'd know if they were on or not.

"Microphones, Weston," Ethan pressed.

Weston bit her bottom lip, thinking and looked at Cuddy, switching the speaker off. "He'll tell you, won't he? House will tell you what happened in there."

_Maybe not immediately_, Cuddy thought to herself. _Maybe not today, maybe not even next week. But he will eventually_. "Yes," she told her, firmly.

Weston nodded and flicked the switch.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House noticed the blinking red light die down and nodded, impressed with Ethan's manipulation. _Oh, we have so much in common_, House told himself sarcastically.

"So," House said, looking at Ethan. "What do you want to talk about? Donut shop that opened down the street? It's supposed to rain later this week and Macy's is holding a fifty percent off sale…"

"I miss you," Ethan interrupted, practically begging the question.

"Did you bring me flowers?"

"Why don't you take a seat?" Ethan said, grinning evilly.

House shrugged sarcastically. "I don't feel at home. You know…all the metal and stuff. It's kind of stifling." he complained.

"Are you still scared of me?" he asked simply.

"Scared?" House asked, crinkling his nose. "Hmm…I believe the more accurate term is 'aware that I am currently in the presence of a complete and total psychopath'."

"You remember what I did to you, don't you?" Ethan continued, completely unperturbed. "The things I said, the things I made you go through…the pain…"

House did remember, but he was going to let that get to him. He was going to have to try a lot harder.

"I remember. I remember all that pain I caused you…and it would have been worse had those goddamn cops not made it in… do you want to know what I wanted to do with Lisa? I don't think I ever made it abundantly clear what my plan was. I think it's only fair I let you know now, don't you?"

House didn't say anything, but his eyes were already lighting up, ready to spring to the attack. If he said anything…if he went too far…

"I was going to take her," he said slowly, enunciating each word. "I was going to take her…fuck her…make her mine. And I was going to do it in front of you, when you were already half dying and unable to move. I was going to take her right there with you watching. And do you want to know what the best part would have been?"

"Shut up," House warned him, taking a step closer to him, breathing heavily. "Shut the hell up."

Ethan didn't even flinch. Instead, he smiled, baring his teeth. House was losing it. He was getting to him. And it was that girl, just as he had suspected. Just what his friend had said – it's always the girl. "You wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing about it."

House heard some commotion outside down the hallway and was sure someone was about to barge into the room, no doubt realizing that something was wrong through the cameras. But he wasn't ready for that. He quickly locked the door before anyone could enter, turned and raised his cane up, about to break it on his head.

"Why would you want to hit me?" Ethan asked innocently. "I'm not the one who sprinkled castor beans all over her food…though I guess technically it was _your_ food…"

That stopped him. "Who was it?" he demanded.

"Oh, _now_ you want to play nice."

"Doctor House!" Weston yelled from behind the door, realizing that the door was locked.

"They'll find a key soon," Ethan taunted.

"Who the hell is it?!" House yelled.

"Why should I tell you? You were the one that was about to hit me. Hardly fair considering I'm all tied up."

Ethan was seated and handcuffed but House shoved him to the wall, chair and all. "I'll kill you if you don't tell me who it is! I swear to God…"

"No need to get all violent. See, the thing is, I'm finished with you. I'm stuck here, you know? Finished. I can't get you or your girlfriend, but I've had my satisfaction. That should last me what, ten years in this hell hole? But this _other_ guy that's after you…" Ethan shrugged and made an 'I can't help you' face. "Well, he hasn't had his satisfaction yet. Oh, and between you and me, he hates you a lot more. He likes Lisa, though if that's any consolation."

The banging on the door wasn't as loud – someone was out looking for a key.

"You probably want me to tell you who it is, don't you? Before the cops barge in here and make you leave? But that would be too easy!" Ethan smirked as if contemplating and House shoved him harder against the wall, banging Ethan's head.

"Okay, okay," Ethan said despite the knock on his head. "I'll tell you something…"

Jingling outside – keys.

"Think _really_ hard," Ethan said slowly. "You know him…Lisa knows him…which means he's obviously someone at the hospital."

"Just tell me who the hell it is!"

Ethan could hear the desperation in his voice. For once, House couldn't hide it.

"House!" He heard Cuddy yell outside. So much for not doing something stupid…ahem…being stubborn.

Again, Ethan's smile broadened. "You know what the funny thing is? My friend isn't going to hurt you. Nah, that was the plan at first, but he figured that if he hurt _her_…then he'd be hurting you a lot worse. Now, let's think about that, shall we? Who knows about you and Lisa?"

Wilson. Wilson knew, but it wasn't Wilson. That was just stupid, who was he trying to fool?

"Not enough?" Ethan asked rhetorically. "Okay, how about this…who _likes_ Lisa but hates you?"

Yeah, like that narrowed it down. Suddenly, the doors opened quickly and two security guards as well as Weston and an additional cop barged in at the same time. Too late. Someone's hand was already leading him away from a smiling, triumphant looking Ethan.

"It's Patrick!" Ethan yelled excitedly just as House was led away.

_Who the hell is Patrick!_ House wanted to yell angrily, but he wasn't even thinking properly.

"Patrick!" Ethan yelled again over the chaos, but House could barely hear him properly. House was already out the door by the time he yelled out, "Patrick Ramona!"

The doors slammed shut and just like that, his hope disappeared.

"I told you not do something stupid!" Cuddy yelled, trying to keep angry but in all honesty, relieved that he was okay. "What were you thinking? Wrestling him like that! I told you don't think…you're not stubborn…you're just _stupid_!"

"Who's Patrick Ramona?" House asked, ignoring her yelling.

"What?" That seemed to cool her down a little.

"Patrick Ramona…who is that?"

"House, you can't try and pull that off again," Weston warned him. "I know he's a pain, it's hard to not kick him in the balls but--"

"Do _you_ know a Patrick Ramona?" House interrupted.

Weston shook his head. "No, why, what did Ethan say?" she asked quickly, hoping House wouldn't just close off.

"He said his accomplice was Patrick Ramona. And he said Cuddy and I know him. Only problem is, I don't know a goddamn Patrick!"

"We'll look into it," Weston said, filing away that information in her mind for further investigation. She turned to a police officer on her right. "I want you to call the department – tell them to look into this." Then she turned back to House. "Did he say anything else?"

"No," House lied. Well…he didn't say anything _she_ needed to know, anyway.

"Could've fooled me," Cuddy whispered in his ear, still slightly pissed off, mostly due to worry.

"You worry too much," House told her sarcastically, earning a frown that could kill butterflies. House cringed, faking fear but still shaken.

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"I don't care if you need time to come to terms with anything or if you just want to digest everything that happened alone… I don't care if you need some time alone just to cope. You want to know why? Because you're going to tell me exactly why you thought trying to beat up Ethan wasn't going to scare the hell out of me!" Cuddy was still whining, yelling and complaining – a mixture of all three really. She decided to take the rest of the day off with House after a good amount of whining on House's part. They were both at her home and she was… 'cooking'. It looked more like she was chopping things up and pretending it was House's head and then throwing everything into a pot angrily as if the chopped vegetables were souls and the pot was hell itself. Who knew cooking could be so evil? That's why he never did it. He just watched her massacre innocent food from his safe zone a few meters away, just outside the kitchen.

House opened his mouth about to say something but Cuddy continued talking, ignoring him. "What did I tell you just before you went in there? 'House…don't do something stupid'. I even said please, and what do you do? You do something stupid. I think you even passed your own expectations here, pushing that…psycho up against the wall. What if he was armed or had a knife or something stashed up under his shirt?"

House rolled his eyes. "They had checked him for weapons beforehand, obviously. See, I _was_ thinking."

"Shut up," Cuddy shot back. "And what if they hadn't checked him properly?"

"What if I forgot to ask my patient if it hurt to pee? I would've killed him and then we'd have to suspend someone because that's just what we doctors do. When in doubt, suspend someone. What do cops do then? When in doubt, yell 'you're fired'?"

"Don't do something stupid. That's all I asked. You want to know what gets me? What could he have possibly said that made you try and pull something off like that? Hmm?"

For the first time, House actually looked remorseful or at least worried. During Cuddy's half an hour long rant on 'Why the hell are you so impulsive?', House had just been amused.

"What…did he say something?" Cuddy asked hesitantly. She had just thought House had thrown his fit because of the whole Patrick Ramona thing. Apparently, there was something else.

"House…?"

"It's nothing."

"What did he say?"

"It's---"

"Please tell me," Cuddy asked again. She covered the pot, allowing its contents to cook.

House was hesitant to say anything at all, but he fought off the feeling. "He…just…reminded me that his earlier plan was to make me miserable."

"And…?" Cuddy pressed. That wasn't it. She knew it wasn't. House had managed to fight off almost every psychological battle tactic Ethan had thrown his way. She knew seeing him hadn't been easy for him either but for House to go crazy like that…there had to be something else.

"Can't slip anything by you, can I?" House deflected.

"House," she warned.

He sighed, messing with his cane. "He told me he wanted to…in the basement. He wanted to rape you…and make me watch. And _then_ I got pissed."

She stopped what she was doing, House's anger taking a new light. It all made sense now – why he was so desperate to know the name…just like everyone else, he wanted all of this to be over. But he also didn't want her hurt in the process, and the faster this was all taken care of, the less he had to worry.

"I'm fine, House," she told him. "And I'll _stay_ fine."

"Not with that psycho's buddy roaming around," House said angrily. "If something happens to you because of all this…"

"Nothing's going to happen to me," she reassured him, standing in front of him.

"I don't want to lose you…"

She lightly took his cheek in her hand. "You won't." She stood on her toes to reach him and took his lips with hers. "I love you…" she whispered just as their lips met.

"Me too," House told her in between kisses.

"Tell me…"

He leaned back to look her in the eye. "I love you, Lisa."

She stood there, feeling safe just by being with him. Her head rested on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. She sighed. "So…Patrick Ramona?"

"Apparently…"

"Who the hell is Patrick Ramona," Cuddy mumbled angrily into his chest. House laughed at her child like frustration.

**_Who is it? Is it a friend of mine? Who is it? Is it my brother? Who is it? Somebody help my soul now. Who is it? I can't take this 'cuz I'm lonely…and it doesn't seem to matter and it doesn't seem right…_**

**I love my Michael Jackson…**

**Oh, and in case you haven't figured it out, I named the chapters based on songs. This one is MJ's Who is it.**

**So…who is it?**

**Patrick Ramona – that's the clue for you guys. I'm sure a bunch of people think they know who the evil accomplice is – but can you connect him to Patrick Ramona? I sense doubt…and I see frantic google searching in your future…**

**Whoever figures it out gets triple gold stars, lots of love and…chocolate chip cookies? o.O lol…**

**Review on your way out por favor. Did you like this chapter? Did I do okay? MYA!!! REVIEW! REVIEW REVIEW!!!! :)  
**


	28. Chapter 28: I'm So Sure

**Not much to say, except I hope you enjoy it! :)**

**I don't own House :(**

Chapter 28: I'm So Sure

Patrick Ramona was a dead end.

It had been almost three weeks since the confrontation and no one had the faintest idea who Patrick Ramona was. Ethan had refused to say anything else about his mystery man and after endless hours of searching and investigating, the police hadn't gotten anywhere either. House, Cuddy and Wilson had done their fair share of investigating but Google could only take you so far.

"He could have just said that to get to you," Cuddy pointed out once. "Maybe there is no Patrick."

House was starting to believe her. How hard could it be to find a single person? Yes, Patrick could just be a pseudonym or an anagram which would make their job a lot harder – but it would still be possible. Weston had put in countless hours trying to drag out any bit of information out of Ethan, but she had run out of threats and ways to make his life difficult. Ethan simply wasn't going to say another word regarding this 'Patrick'.

His team also could tell something was on his mind and because of that, they had kept a considerable distance at all times between themselves and their boss. House couldn't help but find it interesting that they could easily tell when he was on edge but still had no idea that he was dating the dean of medicine. Or maybe they _did_ have an idea….time to make a weekly stop at the nurses' station and check the polls.

Over the past couple days, though, his regular pissed off mood returned (as opposed to his 'I want to kill you' mood). After all, Patrick hadn't acted in weeks. Maybe there was nothing to it and Ethan was just trying to get to him – he seemed to enjoy doing that.

House was currently hiding from Cuddy again to keep away from the clinic. He was with Wilson in the lounge playing a friendly game of foosball. Well, Wilson was playing a friendly game of foosball. House was especially aggressive and would move the ball when Wilson wasn't looking.

"Did you hear about the nurse sleeping with Dr. Turner?" House asked.

"Dr. Turner…is he the cardiologist?"

House made a face. "How am I supposed to know? I'm just the messenger."

"But he's married…"

"So what, that's the not the point. The _point_ is," House interrupted, scoring a goal. "Is that the nurse is _also_ sleeping with the head of ER."

"So it's okay for Turner to cheat but not for the nurse?"

"The head of ER is _not_ a guy..."

House waited for that to sink in for a moment. Immediately, Wilson's eyes widened and he smirked. "Oh ho! And Turner doesn't know?"

"Unless…Turner's into that stuff…"

"Like that would be surprising," Wilson thought aloud.

At that exact moment, Cuddy walked into the lounge and without so much as a simple 'hello', she marched up to the foosball table and placed her hand on one of the handles so House couldn't play. "You're supposed to be in the clinic."

"Why are you looking for me here? My usual hiding spots are the MRI room or the clinic. You're not supposed to be looking for me here yet…"

"Clinic," Cuddy reminded him. "Now."

"Why do you always tell me to do that when I'm busy?"

"Yeah," Cuddy said motioning at the foosball table. "Really busy. I can tell. What am I thinking?"

"See, _now_ you understand where I'm coming from."

"If you don't start your clinic duty in five minutes, I'll make you do Cameron's as well," Cuddy said triumphantly.

"You can't even make me do mine," House muttered, rolling his eyes.

She leaned seductively close to him. "Tell me that again tonight and I'll prove I can make you do _anything_."

Wilson half snorted then quickly added, "Ouch," at House's predicament. House shot him his legendary 'Just wait until she's not in the room' glare and wrinkled his nose at Cuddy. "That's not very fair."

"Right, because you're the standard of fairness? Get to the clinic. I have a meeting to get to in about half an hour," she said, checking the clock on the wall. She frowned and looked at Wilson, "Speaking of meetings, Wilson, you do know that _you_ have to be at this meeting too, right? You're on the board, remember? Why are you playing with him?" She pointed at House.

Wilson raised his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry. Didn't mean to fraternize with the enemy."

"Thank God I'm not on the board…you and your stupid meetings..."

Wilson grinned devilishly. "It's a meeting for your friend Ryan Heath…" he prodded, knowing how well House hated the man.

That got his attention. "I don't care about Ryan Heath," he said. "What's this meeting for anyway?"

"You're ugly when you're jealous," Cuddy told him, stealing the words he had told her many months ago.

"He's a _donor_, House," Wilson reminded him. "You know…those rich people you hate that give the hospital money. You tend to drive them away."

"And if you even _think_ about driving Ryan away through some twisted, psychotic plan you're already concocting in your mind…" Cuddy started.

"He's offering us a hundred million dollars," Wilson interrupted, not entirely eager to hear the rest of her threat. "It's just a vote and a discussion of where he wants his money to be invested."

"Yeah, right now it's _just _a vote and a discussion. That's what they _all_ say, then they--"

Cuddy interrupted him, waving his hand. "Then they become dogs in heat and try to get in my pants. Not interested in this new story and really don't want to hear it right now. Get to the clinic and Wilson, you need to get ready for the hearing."

And with that she turned on her heels and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, noticing House wasn't paying attention, Wilson scored a goal.

House rolled his eyes. "She's so demanding."

"She's _your_ girlfriend," Wilson said. "She probably picked up a good deal of it from you."

"Right, and it has nothing to do with her being all 'Oh, I'm the boss. Worship me'. Honestly, why does everyone like blaming me?"

"Force of habit. Besides, it gets everyone else out of trouble. When all else fails, blame you. It's not like anyone's going to bother checking up on the information if they know you most likely did it."

"Most likely, not definitely."

"House, you can't give me five instances where you were legitimately innocent." All of a sudden, he remembered something almost completely off topic. "Hey, did the police figure anything out about this Patrick guy?"

House shook his head, his lips pursed. "Nope. Just a dead end."

"And you're not worried?" Wilson asked, impressed…or frightened, he wasn't sure which at the moment.

"There _is_ no Patrick Ramona. Police would have found him or at least someone would have heard of him. The dumbass enjoys messing with me so he made up a name for me to go around chasing. End of story and a simple explanation. Patrick Ramona is a nonexistent and lost cause."

"Patrick Ramona?"

House and Wilson quickly turned to see House's team standing there. Cameron was holding an MRI scan and it looked as if they had just walked in. House quickly studied their expressions, wondering how much they had heard - not much judging from the bored looks on their faces.

"How fast is our patient dying?" House asked instead, holding out his hand to take the scans.

"Remember the cysts you swore were in her lungs?" Foreman pointed out. "They're not there."

"And you had to bring me an MRI scan to prove it," House said, annoyed.

"Did an MRI of her brain like I _thought_ we should earlier. Take a wild guess as to where the cysts were."

House pretended to be taken aback. "Foreman! Our patient is _dying_. Now isn't the time to gloat!" He held the scan up to the light to take a better look. "Damn. They're all over the place."

"They explain the symptoms, but they're inoperable. She doesn't have much time."

"We're done here," House said. "Go break the news."

His team nodded solemnly and began to exit the room. "Cameron!" he yelled before she left. All three members of his team stopped walking and looked at him. House frowned. "Is your name Cameron?" Immediately, Foreman and Chase exchanged glances but quickly filed out of the room.

"You know a Patrick Ramona?" House asked.

"So much for dead end," Wilson muttered.

"Uh…" Cameron hesitated, not sure what the big deal was. "I recognize the name."

"From where?" House demanded.

"I don't know. The name just rings a bell."

"Patrick! Patrick! Patrick!" House squealed quickly. When Wilson and Cameron stared at him as if he had lost his mind, House explained, "I'm trying to ring multiple bells, not just one."

She shrugged. "I don't know where the name comes from. I might have heard it once or twice but I'm not sure."

"Think harder and when you get outside tell the dark one and your _boyfriend_ to stop gluing their ears to the door."

She rolled her eyes, expressing annoyance and left, quickly opening the door to see if House's assumption was correct. Chase and Foreman were behind the door and were almost crushed by it.

Wilson stared after her, and then glanced at his friend. "Her and…Chase?"

House merely placed his index finger on his lips. "Shh…it's a secret!"

"Chase and Cameron?" Wilson repeated, resuming play. "Again? For real!?"

"Amazingly, yes."

"How long?"

"Erm….about a month."

"Do _they_ know that you know?"

"Nope."

"And you didn't tell me anything!"

"Because you have a big mouth," House said. "And you'd do stupid stuff like talk to Cameron about her feelings and tell her I know their secret, which would mess up my secret plan of betting on their relationship with all the doctors and nurses of this hospital." House quickly covered his mouth, feigning shock. "Oops!"

"You're betting on their relationship? Did you think that, oh, I don't know, that might _ruin_ their relationship? And if they've been at it for a month and they're still together, it just might be working for them. Why would you ruin it?"

"Because I want to make money. And I'm _not_ ruining it. I'm organizing the bets. I'm merely an observer."

"Does Foreman know?"

House grinned, his smile obviously giving Wilson the impression that he knew a lot more than he was going to tell. "Of course he knows…"

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Oops," Cameron muttered, smirking when she half slammed the lounge doors into Foreman and Chase.

"What did he want?" Foreman asked.

"Nothing you'd be interested in," she said cheekily as she led the way down the hall; might as well play this out and laugh at them later.

"Then why aren't you telling us?" Chase asked suspiciously.

"Because it's not important!"

"Apparently it is if you aren't telling _us_ what he--"

"He asked me if I knew a Patrick something…Ramona, Verona, I don't remember."

"Who's that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just him heard him say the name when we walked in – I thought I recognized the name."

"Patrick isn't exactly the most original names out there – of course you recognized it," Foreman pointed out.

"I mean the full name, obviously. Know what, it doesn't even matter, because I don't _know_ a Patrick Ramona or whatever it was. Forget it, it's not a big deal." She stopped talking as soon as they reached their patient's room. Cameron most certainly didn't want to do it and even though by now she had gotten used to the deaths, she was never eager to explain the bad news – especially to the family.

"I'll tell her," Foreman said, walking in alone.

Chase and Cameron continued down the hall toward House's office to finish the last pieces of paperwork. "So there's this new restaurant that opened down the street," Chase brought up.

"Italian?" Cameron asked, playing along.

"Of course."

"Sounds like something I'd be interested in."

"The only problem is it's practically impossible to get a reservation. But I _did_ book ahead of time and I think I just _might_ have booked a table for two…"

She chuckled to herself. "When?"

"Mmm…tonight at eight?"

"I…think I'll be free," Cameron said, pretending to think about it. Then on a more serious note, she added, "Do you think House and Foreman know about us?"

"You mean does _House_ know about us?"

"You know House doesn't bother me," Cameron told him. "And the only reason I'm asking is because of what House said inside when he was talking to me in the lounge. After he badgered me about his Patrick, he told me to tell Foreman and _my boyfriend_ to stop trying to listen in. He sounded like he was teasing or just trying to get on my nerves but I'm not sure."

Chase thought about it for a moment. "It's not a big deal if he knows, you know."

"I don't mind if he knows," Cameron said. And she was telling the truth. "I just know he'll make our lives difficult. Does Foreman know?" Chase opened the door to House's office and they both stepped in, but he didn't answer. "Does Foreman know?" Cameron repeated, knowing there was a reason he was keeping quiet.

"Uh..."

"Not exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Yeah…" Chase started hesitantly. "He knows…but only because we're holding a bet. How long it's going to take House to figure out we're dating."

"_You're_ holding a bet concerning our relationship?"

"No," Chase said, trying to come up with something. "I'm holding a bet concerning _House_. It's got nothing to do with us. We've got an entire betting pool going on too."

"Chase!"

"What?"

"I can't believe you!"

"What's not to believe – I'm practically in charge of all the running bets, of course I'd start one."

She rolled her eyes. In all honesty, what did she expect? "This Italian restaurant better be good." Her eyes flashed suddenly. "Oh!"

"What?" Chase asked, curious as to why her face lit up all of a sudden.

Cameron smiled a little to herself. "The Patrick guy House was telling me about. I just remembered where I've heard of him. Don't even know how House would know anything about him though…it's kind of funny…"

"Who's Patrick?"

She waved her hand as if to dismiss the topic. "No one important. I'll tell House about it later."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Let me get this straight," Wilson started, trying to figure out just how twisted House's mind was. "You set up two betting pools – one concerning how long it would take _you_ to figure it out and a second one on how long it would take _Chase_ to figure out you already figured it out. But Foreman's in on _both_ of them?"

"The first pool is a dud. I've been pretending I don't know and Chase obviously would bet that I'd figure it out within weeks. Now that it's been a month – the betting pool is running hot. Everyone's wondering why I don't know. The _other_ pot is for the select few that know I already know and are waiting for Chase to figure it out. That one is equally hot. The thing is, Foreman's the middle man and he's rigged both pots. He's going to let Chase think I don't know for the first pot and then fess up on the selected date. Chase is going to lose both bets and if we choose the date right, so will over eighty percent of the betting investors."

"So what? You and Foreman split what's left fifty, fifty?"

"That's the plan," House said, scoring a goal after explaining everything for the _third time_.

"That's cheating."

"That's America, buddy."

"Then I guess it's fair to say that if you want me to keep your secret, I better be included in this twisted set up, namely the money that's coming out of it."

"I have three reasons why you won't do it. First, that's just who you are – you won't tell anyone because it's going to be a lot more fun to watch all the nurses and doctors lose their money on some bet that Foreman and I rigged. Second, I can make your life hell. Do you _really_ want to test me? Third, Cuddy's getting fifteen percent out of it – you squeal, she's not going to be very happy."

"She's only getting fifteen percent? That's hardly fair."

"She's only getting anything because she found out about me and Foreman messing with the system. Besides, she's going to end up nipping into my winnings one way or another – we're dating, remember? Besides, you have _no_ idea how much money is floating around in there."

"You," Wilson said, about to leave the lounge. "Are insane."

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Meeting with your friend Ryan, remember?" Wilson reminded him. "I need to get my stuff ready."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House was downstairs in the clinic, signing off on treatment for one of his patients at the nurses' station. He had seen two patients and already he was considering getting his ass out of there. Well…his _last_ patient had been interesting. The dumbass had shoved a glow stick up his ass. What the hell was a glow stick doing anywhere _near_ his ass anyway? The patient hadn't been very interesting for the nurse that had to take the glow stick out though.

"Dr. House is signing out at four thirty," House proclaimed to the nurse on the other side of the station. "Be sure to write that down."

"It's three twenty four."

"What's your point?" House asked as he limped away, popping a Vicodin pill dry. These newer nurses were so annoying. If it had been Brenda she would have just signed him out – she probably would have signed him out at the correct time of three twenty four but it's not like he'd really care.

"Dr. House! How are you?"

_No! I don't want to talk to…whoever you are!_ House thought to himself. _I want to take a nap!_ Reluctantly, House turned around. As soon as he did, he wished he had just ignored the voice and taken the elevator upstairs anyway.

"Don't you remember me?" Ryan Heath said good-humoredly, taking his hand.

"Obnoxious donor at the fundraiser, right?" House asked, pressing the elevator button with his cane.

"I hope not," Ryan said, the annoying playful tone still evident in his voice.

"Oh, you're the donor coming in for the hearing today! Well, _you're_ not obnoxious," House said, mimicking Ryan's tone. "Sorry, I have this bad habit of labeling people – 'obnoxious' and 'donor' seem to naturally go together."

Just before Ryan could say something else, House's pager went off and House checked it. He couldn't believe he'd ever be grateful to get a page. "Damn," he said, sticking his pager back into pocket.

"What happened?" Ryan asked out of curiosity.

"Dying patient is dying of the wrong thing," he said annoyed.

"Do you know where Lisa is?" he asked suddenly.

"Dr. Cuddy," House corrected. _Dr. Cuddy to you, Lisa to me_. "Is in the board room waiting for you to arrive for the hearing – along with all the other board members," he was sure to add the last part, just to get a message across. After all – he knew, or at least had the impression, that they were dating. What was his point?

"I was hoping to talk to _Lisa_ in private," he said. His tone had shifted from inviting to almost threatening and triumphant. "Before the hearing."

"Knock yourself out," he said simply as the elevator doors opened and closed behind him. He really didn't like this guy. He hadn't said anything revealing but House could easily tell he had an agenda – what that agenda was, he hadn't a clue, but House wasn't happy with him. He was up to something – he probably wanted to turn the hospital into a shopping mall.

And why did he always want to talk to Cuddy? Yeah, so he had wanted to go with her to the fundraiser, get over it.

Inside his office, he found Chase and Foreman discussing the symptoms and Cameron at his computer. He entered his office space, frowning at the scene and Cameron quickly stood up, sure House didn't want her near his computer.

"Hmm…" House hummed, tilting his head. "I suppose Cameron could play me for the day, but I couldn't play _her_…my hair isn't naturally--"

"Symptoms aren't matching anymore," Foreman brought up. "Tumors in her brain don't add up. But they _are_ there. Which means it could be reversible…"

"How can you reverse--"

"Maybe it's not--"

"You guys aren't differential-ing properly. Why are we in this room? I need Johnny the white board!"

"I was looking up your Patrick guy," Cameron admitted. "I figured out who he was and I was--"

"Who is he?" House demanded, ignoring the differential and limping over to his computer. How did Cameron figure out who this guy was within minutes when no one else could—

Cameron smiled a little. "He's a character from that movie 10 Things I Hate About You back in the nineties. It's a chick flick." She couldn't help but laugh a little. How the hell did House know anything about a movie like this?

_What the hell?!?!_ House frowned, staring at the Wikipedia page Cameron was looking at. "Why would I ever need to know something like that?" House asked simply.

Cameron ignored him. "See look…Patrick Verona." She moved the cursor over to the name and immediately, House's heart fell. Not long afterwards, anger rose. She had gotten his hopes, thinking that there would be an end to all this madness and all Cameron found was a similar name on the page of a movie she watched years ago. A name that had nothing to do with the real problem.

"It's Patrick Verona, damn it!" he said. "I'm trying to figure out who Patrick _Ramona_ is. Maybe if you had your head in the hospital and not trying to look for new closets to screw Chase in you'd--" He stopped immediately – not because he had just given away valuable betting information (which was probably going to _really_ piss of Foreman), but because he saw something typed next to Patrick Verona's name. Heath Ledger.

"What?" Cameron asked, pissed off.

"Heath," House said quietly, reading the name over and over again.

"Yeah, Heath Ledger was in it."

Heath Ledger.

Heath.

Ryan Heath.

"Oh, shit," House muttered, limping out of his office as if the devil himself was on his tail. Ethan wasn't messing with him. There really was an accomplice. House had just heard the name wrong because of all the commotion in the room when after the meeting. It wasn't Patrick Ramona…but _Verona_. And he was a character in a movie played by Heath Ledger. Heath – it was Mr. Heath. Ryan was the accomplice, or rather – the guy in charge. The multimillionaire donor was trying to kill him.

Why? House didn't even know the guy. Had never seen him until the fundraiser. The only thing he could think of was that he hated him for stealing his date but he had obviously tried to kill him before that. What was House to him?

And how the hell had he poisoned his food and drink at the fundraiser? He had been seated at their poker table the entire time. He assumed a bartender poisoned the drink so maybe a cook poisoned the food. He must have just tipped them off – offered a couple thousand dollars to add a 'special ingredient'. Who would say no?

And…oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit…

He wanted to meet with Lisa. Alone. Beforehand. What was he going to do? Say? Lisa was going to be alone with her potential murderer and she didn't even know.

What was he doing? House had already pressed the elevator doors and was waiting for it to come up. What was his plan? Run into the board room and yell murderer? Or tell Cuddy to come out ASAP? Even she would be pissed and Ryan would get suspicious. No, he couldn't do that.

_Think, damn it!_

"House!" Foreman yelled from behind him. "You just blew our cover!"

_Blew what?_ _I didn't…oh, the bet._ Yeah, he had definitely just screwed that over.

"Why did you do that? Know they know you're in on it! Free money – and you let it disappear."

"Oh, shut up and stop whining!" House yelled angrily. Who cares about a stupid bet? Especially now?

Foreman frowned. "You okay?" he asked, wondering what brought this sudden change in attitude.

"Who, me? I've never been happier!" House yelled again. Foreman took this as a hint to get the hell out of there as the elevator doors opened and House stepped inside.

_Okay, okay, think_.

_Page Wilson_.

Wilson was probably setting up for the board meeting and was already down there. He pulled out his pager and quickly keyed in an urgent message. Then did the same with his phone, texting him multiple times. Hopefully he'd get the idea that this was an actual urgent message and not him trying to sneak him out of there to buy him lunch.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

The meeting hadn't started yet. All of the board members had arrived including Ryan but for now, everyone was just visiting and talking casually. So when Wilson received three pager messages and fifteen texts from House, he decided it was best he told him to shut up now – at least before the meeting truly began.

"What?" Wilson asked as soon as he saw him, being sure to close the door behind him.

"Where's Lisa?" were the first words that escaped his lips.

"Inside…" Wilson told him hesitantly. House made it a point to call her Cuddy in the hospital, just in case anyone was listening. What was going on?

"Where's Ryan?"

"He's not here yet--"

"Don't let Lisa go _anywhere_ with him."

"What? Are they supposed to--"

"Bumped into Ryan today, apparently he wanted to meet with her privately before the meeting. Don't care what the hell about but don't--"

"House, you're jealousy is--"

"I'm not goddamn jealous!" House almost yelled. "Ryan is Patrick. Patrick Ramona, apparently the name is Patrick Verona who was played by Heath Ledger in some random movie--"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Wilson interrupted, barely catching what he was saying. "What does any of this have to do with Heath Ledger?"

"Patrick is a character _played_ by Heath Ledger. Ryan Heath, Heath Ledger – it has to be connected."

"I don't think they're related," Wilson pointed out.

"Goddamn it, I know that! I'm saying there _is_ a Patrick! I just heard the name wrong, it's not Patrick Ramona."

Wilson quickly did a rewind and replay on what House had just said. "So Ryan is…are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

"House you've got no proof, it doesn't explain the poisoning or--"

"Lisa was poisoned at the fundraiser, he was at the fundraiser--"

"Right, as well as about five hundred other people."

"He could have easily tipped off someone, he's a millionaire for the love of God!"

"So were half of the people in there!" Wilson tried to explain.

"I don't like him."

"You don't like anyone!"

"I _especially_ don't like him," House said anyway and Wilson sighed, frustrated. "Look, I know it looks like I have no proof but it's him. I _know_ it is. It has to be."

"No, it doesn't have to be. You just want it to be him because you hate him and because you think he wants to get into Cuddy's pants."

"I _always_ have proof. And even when I don't I have something that can at least moderately count for proof. Right now it probably looks more like I'm off my rocker or I OD'd on Vicodin pills but I _know_ it's him."

Wilson studied him – seriously studied him. This was insane, but then again, that was House's specialty - the rational, the explicable and the insane. When he looked at him, he saw all three elements, but he also saw something else – fear. Complete and total, unmasked fear. He was terrified, not for himself, but for her. Maybe there was more that House wasn't explaining, he didn't know, but the look on his face warned Wilson to take this seriously.

"Just…watch her," House asked. Begged. "For me. Please."

Wilson nodded. He couldn't bear to see House like that. God, he really loved her.

"I will, House," he reassured him.

House simply nodded once and Wilson turned around to go back into the board room. Even though he wasn't 100% sure it was Ryan, he entered determined and slightly frightened, ready for the worst. He doubted Ryan would try anything in a room full of people but he'd be watching him – looking for anything out of the ordinary or incriminating but most of all – making sure he didn't try anything on Cuddy.

**Dun, dun, dun… Yeah, so it's beyond obvious now who the evil boss is. Yeah, a lot of you guessed it but I hope the **_**journey**_** was a good one. That's the thing with Huddy fics, you know? You know they're going to end up together (hopefully!) but it's the journey that makes it fun! **

**Oh, and RIP Heath Ledger – he was freaking awesome – he's nothing like Ryan Heath. Boo Ryan, yay real Heath Ledger! :)**

**REVIEW on your way out, please! Thank you! And for my closet readers who secretly like/hate the story but don't review, please do! It means a lot! And it makes me feel appreciated and HAPPY! LOL. Opinions? Anything you'd like to see? Anything you're looking forward to? REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW!**

**REVIEW!!! **

**:)**

**peace.**


	29. Ch 29: If Anything Ever Happened To You

**This chapter picks up JUST where we left off so if you need to go back and read the last paragraph or so if the last chapter, go ahead. But here's the last line! Enjoy! :)**

_He doubted Ryan would try anything in a room full of people but he'd be watching him – looking for anything out of the ordinary or incriminating but most of all – making sure he didn't try anything on Cuddy._

Chapter 29: If Anything Ever Happened To You

Cuddy and Ryan were discussing something near the head of the board room table and whatever it was, Cuddy seemed to find it amusing – or was pretending she found it amusing. Just as Wilson closed the door behind him Ryan's hand found its way on Cuddy's back, as if to lead her out of the room. Wilson could tell she was uncomfortable with the position and was already taking a few steps toward the door, as if to lead both of them out. Wilson quickly made his way towards them, accidentally pushing a few board members and muttering a haphazard apology on the way.

"Cuddy!" he quickly called out before either of them could leave, both of them turned around.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, mostly to Ryan though he wasn't in the least bit sorry. Then to Cuddy he added, "There's a problem upstairs in NICU – a mom's throwing a fit, something about us experimenting on her baby," Wilson lied – terribly.

"But that's ridiculous!" Cuddy said, wrinkling her nose.

"I know, that's what everyone is telling her but she won't leave or stop driving everyone nuts until she sees you. And she's denying her child treatment – her baby has pneumonia so…"

"Did you tell her that her baby needs the antibiotics if she wants her to make it to the first grade?"

Wilson made a face that read, 'What do you think?'

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Perfect," she muttered. Then to Mr. Heath, "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to take a look at what the problem is but it shouldn't take more than five minutes at the most."

"I'll wait. I can go ahead and meet the rest of the board now as opposed to later."

Cuddy nodded and followed Wilson out of the room. As soon as the door was shut Wilson quickly led her down the hall away from the room.

"This isn't the way to NICU--" Cuddy began, confused.

"I know," Wilson said once he was satisfied with the distance he put between them and the board room. "Where was Ryan about to take you? What was he talking to you about?"

"Uh…I don't know he just wanted to talk to me outside. Why?"

"House thinks Ryan is Patrick – the Patrick Ethan was talking about."

Cuddy let that sink in for a moment. "What makes him think that?"

"I don't know, apparently Patrick is a character in a movie with the same name as Ryan. Something like that."

"No, I don't want a summary," Cuddy pressed. "I want a full explanation."

Wilson sighed, racking his brain and managed to blurt out some nonsensical story that managed to connect Patrick Ramona, Patrick Verona, Heath Ledger and Ryan Heath. Apparently, Cuddy was satisfied with his account…well, almost satisfied.

"So…House connected Heath Ledger to Ryan Heath? That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but think about it, it honestly matches. First off, the Patrick and Heath connection is so coincidental there's got to be something to it. Ryan was at the fundraiser – where you got poisoned."

"That's the point, he was with us the entire time he couldn't have poisoned anything."

"It's not that hard to tip off a bartender. House's final reason was that he doesn't like him. Period."

"This is insane. Even for House."

"Actually that's the one that makes the most sense," Wilson reasoned. "House always has a reason, and it's always a logical one and the few times he actually has a hunch – it's right anyway. This time, he's got reasoning to back him up _and_ he's got a hunch. And really, it's one too many coincidences for Ryan not to be involved."

"So how does he know House, then?" Cuddy asked, now worried. "Why does he want to kill him?"

"I don't know," Wilson admitted. "But I do know this much, House honestly believes that Ryan is bad news. And he's worried. For you."

Cuddy nodded slowly, trying to add everything up in her head, fitting the pieces together. It _was_ a giant coincidence that the name Ethan had given matched up so well. True, House didn't like him, but then again, House didn't like many donors. But there had been something about this one that had always seemed to put him on edge. Ryan was a little…shady…she'd admit that much but to go as far as to label him a murderer? He didn't seem the type, but he _did_ seem to be the type that would set up the murder, just not perform it. And that's what Ethan was for.

"House wanted me to keep an eye on you," Wilson told her, getting her attention. "He wanted me to watch you in there. We need to get going so it doesn't look suspicious."

"Okay," she whispered, fear taking root as they walked back to the board room.

"It'll be fine," he reassured her, opening the door. "Just…don't go anywhere alone with him."

She nodded and he could see the worry and anxiety in her eyes. But when she turned around to face the board room, the anxiety disappeared and was replaced with false enthusiasm; a smile on her lips, her eyes lit up. She put on her bravest face and entered the room, preparing to make a deal with a murderer.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy put on a good show during the presentation; Wilson had paid more attention to her as opposed to Ryan's proposal and she seemed to have handled everything well. The meeting would end soon.

"Mr. Heath, you've given us a decent amount of information to consider and I assure you we'll take everything into consideration as we review your proposal. We'll take our vote in two days at that time I'll let you know what our decision is." She glanced at the rest of the board and received their silent but honest approval with a few head nods. She stood up signaling that the meeting was over. She smiled and took Ryan's hand in a firm handshake as the everyone else prepared to leave.

Just as Cuddy turned to talk to one of the board members, Ryan stopped her. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

Immediately, her heart skipped a beat. She had been hoping she'd be able to get the hell out of there without him catching her. "Of course," she said, albeit slightly hesitantly, hoping Wilson was following her or at least keeping tabs on her whereabouts. The two of them left the board room and walked down the relatively quiet hallway.

"I didn't tell the board about part of my proposition," Ryan told her when he closed the door behind them. "I'd prefer you heard about it first."

"Uh…sure…. yes, that's fine," Cuddy nodded, just wanting to get the hell out of there. "We could--"

"I was thinking, maybe dinner at Romano's?" Ryan suggested.

She had dinner with donors all the time and what Ryan was asking wasn't even that big of a deal. But considering what she had just found out – she was more than just hesitant, she was scared. But if she made it obvious, there may be repercussions. "Romano's…yes, that's fine--"

"As long as it's okay with Dr. House…"

She didn't like the tone of his voice when he said that. He tried to sound sincere but she could hear the annoyance and the question in his voice, as if he was testing the waters. "What…?" she accidentally asked out loud – she was jittery and on edge, she barely knew what she was saying anymore.

"You're dating House, right?"

So he didn't know? He wasn't sure? Cuddy took a leap. "No, I'm not," she lied immediately.

_This_ definitely seemed to catch Ryan by surprise and for that, Cuddy was grateful. "Oh? Alright so Romano's? Tomorrow night maybe at eight?"

_No. I don't want to!_ "That's fine," Cuddy lied again. She opened the door, hoping this conversation was over and desperately wanting to talk to House. "I'll see you then. I need to go and take care of some other pressing matters but I'm sure the rest of the board would love to discuss what they already know with you."

As soon as she was freed, she quickly made her way to her office and pulled out her pager.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"I asked Wilson to do one thing," House started, angrily. "Watch you. And now you tell me Ryan wants to have dinner with you – where was Wilson during all of this, hmm?"

"I left just as the meeting ended – he couldn't have found me anyway," Cuddy defended. "Don't get mad at him."

"How can I not--"

She placed her hands on his chest, smiling to herself. "It's nice to know you were worried about me, though…if that helps…"

House frowned a little. "Now is not the time to get cozy."

She chuckled to herself and gave him a quick kiss before walking over to her side of the desk. House made a face. "See, if _I_ tried that right after I…oh, I don't know…had a meeting with a murderer, _I'd_ get in trouble and receive a 'stop deflecting' lecture."

Cuddy sighed. "Fine…so I'm deflecting. I don't want to talk about it right now. It wasn't exactly the best forty five minutes of my life – stuck in a room with a psycho that I know has tried to kill me and wants to kill…_you_." She sat down on the couch, staring at nothing in particular. "I just don't want to think about all that right now, okay?"

House sat down beside her, understanding. She didn't need to be badgered with information and questions and for House, that was hard, especially now. He wanted to _know_, and right now, he felt like he was in the dark – he didn't have the upper hand, he didn't have any information. It was an unsettling place to be. He wanted to know what had happened in the meeting, what Ryan _really_ wanted to know, how the hell Ethan and Ryan knew him - he realized he still didn't even know something as simple as that. He wanted to know what Ryan wanted from him, what had made Ethan and Ryan pair up – he wanted to _know_. And right now, he didn't.

They were silent for a few minutes and House gave her the time she needed. He didn't even realize his hand reach behind and hold on to her shoulder.

"What did you tell Ryan?" he finally asked.

Cuddy sighed her head rolling back as if anticipating a sudden onslaught of questions. "I told him we'd meet at Romano's at eight o'clock tomorrow night to discuss the money he wants to donate."

"You're _meeting_ him?" House asked abruptly. He hadn't been aware of that – he thought she had just come up with an excuse to buy time, but to know she had actually _agreed_. "Are you crazy? Why would you--"

"I'm not crazy!" Cuddy yelled, taking his arm and half throwing it away, angrily. "I didn't want to make him suspicious. I've been nice to him since and if I just blew him off he would have known something was up. I…I also told him we weren't dating."

House let that sink in for a moment. "Why did you tell him that?"

"Because he's not after _me_," she said as if it was obvious. "He doesn't like _you_, he tried to kill you remember? I was just collateral damage. If I told him we were dating that's just one more reason to hate you. I figured…I might as well give him less reason to want your head."

"So you acknowledge the fact that he _does_ want you. And you still don't find this terrifying?"

"I do, Greg. I don't need you blowing it up in my face like that, okay? I get it, I get it..it's just…" she rested her face in her hand, frustrated. "I don't know anymore. I just want all this to stop – I want to know why he and Ethan hate you so much and I want to get rid of both of them…I just want this to stop…and I want to know _why._"

"It'll stop," he reassured her. "I'll call Weston; we'll get to the bottom of this. It _will_ stop." He gave her a few moments to let that penetrate. "Meanwhile, we need to figure out what we're going to do about your little date with Ryan."

"It's not a date," she told him. "It's just a meeting, I meet with donors like that all the time."

"Yeah, except for the fact that most donors aren't--"

"Don't," Cuddy stopped him, knowing the words that were about to come out of his mouth. "Please."

House nodded solemnly. "But we still need to take care of your little _meeting_. I for one think you should just blow him over. Tell him your mom died. That's what I do."

"Yeah, and if I used that excuse I'd run out relatives," Cuddy laughed, thinking of all the times House's relatives had abruptly 'died'.

"If you have to go, then I'm coming too. _And_ Wilson."

"This isn't a group meeting, Greg," she warned him. "I can't have you just tagging along. Or Wilson."

"We won't have to tag along. We'll have our own table somewhere else where we can at least see you. We'll keep out of sight, I won't come over, I won't say a word, I won't question anyone's wardrobe or anyone's sanity…" House began listing off his promises and obligations.

"Okay," she interrupted halfway, smiling as she leaned back into him. "Then I'm fine. I want you to come…I'd feel better if you did. Besides, it's not like we're taking any of his money anyway. I just need to buy time until Weston gets involved. Are you going to call her?"

"I already did," House said slowly.

"But…?" Cuddy asked, knowing that there was more than what he was letting on.

He sighed. "But…they can't really do anything…again." Before Cuddy could open her mouth and start arguing, he quickly interjected. "Well, what did you expect? I connected an actor and a murderer, I don't think they liked that very much."

"This isn't funny."

"No, it's not," House agreed. "They can talk to him but they won't get much. After all, what's he going to say? 'Yes, I admit it, I almost killed the dean of medicine and one of her doctors?' And if she _does_ decide to talk to him--"

"Then he'll get the idea that he needs to act fast and he'll put whatever his next twisted plan is into action sooner as opposed to later."

"There's that," House acknowledged. He looked at her and instantly hated the expression on her face – the fear, anxiety, worry and uneasiness. He wasn't used to recognizing these expressions when looking at her, and he hated knowing they were there. "You know this is going to end eventually."

"I know," she whispered. "I just…don't know what's going to happen between now and the end. That's what I'm scared of the most."

House sighed, equally worried and again the silence set in. "I think you need another break, a day off or something," he finally spoke up, changing the subject.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna go to Victoria's Secret?" House asked her, his eyes lighting up suggestively.

Cuddy chuckled, finally cracking a smile, realizing that he really knew how to take her mind off things – and he didn't have to try anything particularly elaborate. "Yeah, right – like I'm going to ever take you there again."

He smiled and leaned over to kiss her, caressing her cheek with the tip of his fingers. It was a slower kiss, providing and offering they both needed. Moments later, House's pager started ringing and he groaned, reluctantly tearing himself away to check it.

"Who's dying and how fast?" Cuddy asked, not entirely pleased with House's team for their rude interruption.

"Forget it," House said, sticking it back into his pocket, about to continue kissing her – that was much more fun than answering some stupid page. "They just paged me to tell me they're about to do something stupid."

Their lips connected for a brief moment but Cuddy managed to gather enough willpower to pull away. "Then you better go yell at them and make sure they _don't_ do anything stupid."

"In a minute…" he answered, a trail of kisses leading towards the hollow of her neck.

"Mm," she moaned in a state of oblivious bliss. "Mmm…wait, no!" she laughed. "Go do your job."

House pouted but stood up to leave. "You're mean," he accused as he exited her office, determined to make his team's life miserable. How dare they interfere with his make out time with Cuddy?

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**An hour later…**_

"I'm sorry Mr. Stewart, but the tests were positive – it's leukemia."

"That's cancer right…?" The old man asked, hesitantly, as if he was more concerned that he got the answer right than he was of the diagnosis. "The blood one? I remember that from college." He seemed pleased.

"Uh…" Wilson started hesitantly.

At that moment, House opened the door abruptly, startling both Wilson and the senior citizen.

"The door was shut for a reason, House," Wilson said angrily.

House wasn't impressed. "Don't even try that crap with me," he snarled. "Get your ass out here."

"He just told me I had blood cancer!" The old man exclaimed angrily, again more concerned with the interruption than the diagnosis.

House glanced at the patient and then stared at Wilson with a look that screamed, 'Are you freaking serious?'

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stewart, could you excuse me for a moment?"

"Hmph!" was all he muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

"Attention whore," House spat at him just as Wilson shut the door behind them.

"Really, House? I'm with a patient."

"Yeah, and after I told you to watch Lisa you thought that was the perfect opportunity to let her have a little chit chat with Ryan, right?"

Finally, Wilson showed some remorse and guilt flooded his face. "I…I didn't even see her leave the room, I thought--"

"Oh!" House exclaimed as if he had just realized something. "Oh, so you _thought_. Psh, well that explains _everything_. I'm pretty sure that was Hitler's excuse. I _thought_ we could get away with killing all those Jews…I thought I could rule the world…You're no better than Hitler. And you're Jewish! In what world does that make sense?"

"I'm sorry, but she's okay…"

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because if she wasn't you wouldn't be comparing me to Hitler. You'd kill me first, and _then_ compare _yourself_ to Hitler."

"Good point," House said. "But thanks to you, she's going to have dinner with Ryan tomorrow night. Apparently he didn't tell the board _everything_ about how he wants his money spent. Probably wants to add a strip club next to the ER for entertainment purposes. Maybe lop off the oncology department and turn it into a mall."

"So Cuddy's meeting Ryan? Alone? Tomorrow! And she agreed?"

"She didn't have much of a choice, considering her so called protector failed at his job," House complained, frowning.

"I said I was sorry."

"Again, I'm pretty sure that's what Hitler said right before he killed himself. _I said I was sorry…_"

"So how are we going to get her out of it? Did you call Weston?"

"Of course I called Weston! But what is she supposed to do, arrest Ryan because I connected his name to some actor's? Yeah, that incriminating evidence."

"So she's doing nothing."

"Not unless we pressure her to. And if we _do_, then Ryan will figure out we know his dirty little secret and whip out his machete faster than I can limp down the hallway and tattle."

"So…what's your plan?" Wilson asked. "Wait until he does something big like…rob a bank?"

"No…we just wait until we've got better evidence. Weston can't get a decent search warrant with nothing against him – just wait until he does something that's at least slightly suspicious."

"Since when did you just wait until someone does something 'slightly suspicious'."

"Since my girlfriend's life depended on it, that's when!" House said angrily, though it was a valid question. Even if House's life depended on it, he'd still do whatever he wanted which would most likely be yell at Weston and tell her to put Ryan's ass in prison until House's leg healed. But he couldn't take a similar risk if it was Lisa.

"How are we getting Cuddy out of the dinner?" Wilson asked hesitantly.

"We're not."

"And you're okay with this?"

"Only because we're both going to watch her tomorrow night. We can just get a separate table where we can see them but not vice versa. And I thought a decent punishment was to make you pay for dinner - and the tip."

"That sounds fair," Wilson decided, shrugging.

"Yup." After a moment House added, "Why are you still out here? You have a patient, remember?"

Wilson's eyes widened. "Shit! I completely forgot," he muttered quickly opening the door and showering the old man with apology after apology as he took his seat.

"What type of doctor are you?" House yelled just as the door closed and the old man swiftly flicked him off.

**At least 1000 words shorter than most of my chapter but myeh. I figured this was a decent spot to end it. Hope you liked it! REVIEW, please! Any ideas? What do you want to see? And of course the big thing…what should Ryan do at the dinner? What will they talk about? No, what will they REALLY talk about…endless possibilities…**

**Bye! Review, please. See that pretty looking green and white box down there. It's practically screaming, "Click me! You know you want to…I'm just irresistible...how can you say no to me?"**

**Teehee…review! **

**peace. **

**Chapter Title/Song Credits (I'll go back and do this for the other chapters): If Anything Ever Happened to You by BeBe & CeCe Winans lol…**


	30. Chapter 30: I Can't Stand the Rain

**So……I lost my flash drive. I had already finished most of chapter 30 so I had to go back and rewrite it which definitely wasn't fun. There were some lines from the original that I just LOVED and it took me a while to remember all the parts I had added originally into this new copy. Sigh…I hope it's good enough….**

Chapter 30

Cuddy had two hours before her dinner with Ryan and she knew she should start getting ready for it. It was pouring rain outside which was definitely killing her mood and she couldn't help but lounge about and waste time – and House definitely wasn't helping matters either. For the last half hour, he had been spending his time complaining about all three clinic patients he had been forced to see, how annoying Chase and Cameron were now that they were dating and agreeing with each other and that paperwork was an invention from hell.

"But you don't even do your paperwork," Cuddy noted. "Cameron does."

"Just because I don't do it doesn't make it any less evil. Paperwork is _still_ Lucifer's number one weapon."

Cuddy chuckled standing up from the couch. "I need to start getting ready, you know."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I mean, why _now_. Do what I do!"

"Not show up?" Cuddy asked, raising an eyebrow.

House rolled his eyes. "Nooo…get ready fifteen minutes beforehand."

"You might be able to pull something like that off on a daily basis, but I most certainly can't." She told him as she made her way toward the bedroom downstairs, unbuttoning her shirt to reveal her black camisole underneath.

"Do I get a private show?" House asked suggestively.

"Mmmm…" Cuddy hummed, pretending to think about it as House stood behind her. "I'll have to think about it."

He laughed quietly as his hands slipped down to her waist as he planted butterfly kisses on her neck.

"Wilson's going to be here soon," she warned him, but already, she had lost all willpower to resist.

"In two hours..."

"I need to start getting ready..."

"No you don't," he added, as his fingers searched for the zipper of her pants. She twisted her head to capture his lips. Their mouths were enforced in a fierce battle and his hands slowly pulled the zipper of her pants down until they were nothing more but a heap on the ground. She quickly stepped out of them pulling apart the buttons on his shirt as she led him toward the room, forgetting about the pile on the floor. House stumbled over them, but caught himself on the wall behind her. For a moment, concern clouded her eyes.

"Greg…your leg…"

"I'm fine," he told her, his hands slipping underneath her camisole, bringing it up and over her head, revealing her deep red bra.

Cuddy grinned, still kissing him. "You recognize it?" she asked.

House instantly did. She was only wearing the bra and a pair of equally deep red panties – the set he had picked out at Victoria's Secret weeks ago.

"Do I have good taste or what?" House told her as he index finger hooked underneath her panties.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

The two of them lay on the bed on their backs, facing the ceiling, breathing heavily.

"Do…you think…" Cuddy started.

House couldn't help but burst into laughter at this, utterly amused. "My God, Cuddy, have I _actually_ screwed you senseless?"

She turned a little and slapped his arm, playfully. "Don't get a big head," she warned him.

"My ego has no bounds."

"Now _that_ I definitely agree with," Cuddy said, then hesitantly added, "Do you think Ryan is going to try something tonight?"

"He'd better not. Or I'll prove my entire cane _can_ fit all the way up someone's ass."

Cuddy bit at the side of her mouth and buried her head in House's shoulder. "I kind of want him to try something."

"Why!?"

She shrugged. "Because if he did, then we'd be that much closer to the end of our problem. If he tries to pull something off then I know that this entire thing is over. I want him to do something that's enough to finally get rid of him but I don't want anyone hurt – you _or_ Wilson. I'm just sick of this."

"He's not even going to _see_ us, remember? And we're there to make sure he doesn't try anything on _you_."

"I want him to try something," Cuddy insisted. "I just don't want anyone hurt. Besides, he's not going to try anything big in a restaurant full of people."

"He did in a hospital full of people at the fundraiser."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "You're right. Maybe instead of poison, because, you know, that would be repeating himself, he'll do something even cooler. Maybe he'll whip out a bazooka and threaten to shoot down everyone in the restaurant. That's incriminating isn't it?" Cuddy asked sarcastically. "As long as someone pulls that bazooka out of his hand in time, then I'm fine."

"Here's hoping for a bazooka incident," House muttered, amused.

Cuddy rolled out of the bed reluctantly, undeniably dreading the event that was drawing closer and closer by the minute.

_**Romano's, 8 PM**_

Wilson and House were already sitting down at their table. They had checked which table Cuddy and Ryan were going to be seated at and had asked for a particular table that would place them in the best location in order to watch them unseen – and the head waitress had not disappointed. They were behind a tinted glass window so they could see Ryan and Cuddy but not the other way around.

"Did you hear about the nurse dating Dr. Turner?" House asked excitedly.

"You already told me this story."

"I did?"

"Yeah, during foosball, remember? The nurse that's sleeping with Turner and the head of ER which is not a guy…"

"No," House said slowly, annoyed at the unnecessary interruption. "That's when the nurse and Turner were _sleeping_ together. Now they're dating."

"Don't people usually date people before they sleep with them? I know we live in the blue states and all, but generally…"

"Apparently Cameron and Chase's way of doing things is the way to go," House said as he grabbed a roll. "But that's not even the point. The _point_ is that she's dating Turner, _still_ sleeping with the head of ER who is _still_ female and…" he paused here, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Turner is aware."

Wilson almost choked on his drink. "No!"

"Oh, yeah," House said, pleased. "Apparently, Turner is just into that stuff..."

Wilson laughed and looked back out the window to find Ryan leading Cuddy to their table. "Cuddy and the psycho have arrived," Wilson warned House.

House turned to look at them for a moment and sliced his roll in half, imagining it was Ryan's head. He hated everything about that guy – especially how close he was to Cuddy and how he looked at her…like she was something to eat.

"He smiles too much," House accused. He had the sudden urge to stick his butter knife in Ryan's mouth and ask him, _Why so serious_? Well, maybe not his butter knife. Hm…maybe a butcher knife, or even better, a chainsaw…

"House?"

"Hmm?" House asked as he was pulled out of his day-dream.

"Er…what exactly are you thinking? Actually, I don't want to know what you're thinking."

"Are you sure…" House tempted.

"No. I mean yes ! I _don't_ want to know!"

"Liar," House accused. He looked out the indoor window again and noticed the uneasiness in Cuddy's movement. She seemed on edge and jittery and he could see her eyes glance sideways, as if in search of something. Subtle enough for Ryan to not notice but subtle was House's favorite game. Only this time, he couldn't help but wish it wasn't. He pulled out his phone.

"A wise man once told me using your phone on the table was rude," Wilson told him.

"That wise man needs to get a real job," House told him as he sent her a two word text.

_I'm here._

As soon as he did, he called Cuddy. Now she had no choice but to at least look at her phone.

Wilson guessed what he was doing. "You're going to ruin our cover."

"Eat your bread and shut up," House told him, frowning. Wilson followed his instructions but watched what was going on. She seemed flustered as she pulled out her phone to end the call or switch the damn machine off, either one. But, just as House had guessed, not before checking who had made the call and, of course, checking the text. Immediately, she seemed to relax and the frustration disappeared.

Wilson was definitely impressed but before he could mention it, House pointed to the basket of bread in the middle of table and asked, "You want the last one?"

_**An hour later…**_

"He hasn't _done_ anything," Wilson said, looking at Cuddy and Ryan again.

House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he has!" He started listing everything Ryan had done since the start of dinner. "He's eaten, he's brought out that stupid pamphlet, when Cuddy was going to the restroom he checked out her ass…"

"I mean something important."

"_I_ think checking out Cuddy's ass is important. In fact every male in this room would argue that that's important. Maybe you should just join Turner and the nurse's little triangle of love."

"I don't even _understand_ Turner and that nurse's craziness. But I _do_ know that Ryan hasn't done anything throughout dinner that is really important."

Again, House rolled his eyes. Wilson was so unobservant. Ryan's hand had somehow made its way on Cuddy's hand multiple times throughout dinner until Cuddy had decided to quickly pull it away from the table the next time he tried it. He smiled too much – that was another thing, even though House had mentioned it before. But seriously, no one smiled like Ryan…he was probably a secret pedophile. But what House had noticed the most was that when he wasn't looking at his documents or at Cuddy, he was looking around, as if he was searching for something. Each time House noticed his eyes search, he quickly looked away despite the tinted window. Honestly, it was so dark it was impossible to see through them and even inside the restaurant, House and Wilson had trouble seeing outside the window due to the darker lighting everywhere.

"Mommy, I want dessert," House announced as he flipped through the booklet on the table, looking for something.

"But I already paid the bill!"

House frowned and his eyebrows furrowed. "Shut up and buy me dessert!"

"Okay," Wilson said quickly, not liking that evil glare in House's eyes.

"I want something with chocolate…" House hummed as he glanced at "the table". He looked away for a split second and then quickly snapped his head back, realizing the picture was wrong. "Where's Lisa?" he asked suddenly.

Wilson looked only to find Ryan getting out of his seat to go somewhere and Cuddy nowhere in sight. "Where's he going?" Wilson asked, his worry growing.

"I have no idea--" House grabbed his cane.

"No, don't go yet," Wilson warned.

"Why the hell not!"

"It could be nothing, and if he knows you're here then he _really_ will try something. Remember he's not after her, he's after you and knowing you're here will give him a valid reason to go after her."

What he said made sense, but what he desperately wanted to do was quickly dive after Ryan before he lost sight of him completely. It looked like he was simply going to the restroom.

"Besides, what is he going to do in a restaurant full of people?" Wilson reassured him. After a few seconds, Wilson sat back, "See? He's already back."

"Where the hell did he go then?" House asked, suspicious.

"Probably to talk to a waiter or something." After all, he'd only been gone for a few seconds, what else could he have done. Not long afterwards, Cuddy arrived back at the table. It was evident that their meeting was over and they were just participating in small talk for a few more minutes.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," House said. "I was kind of hoping I'd be able to fit my cane--"

"Don't _really _want to know, actually," Wilson told him just as Cuddy and Ryan stood up from the table. "Let's go," he commanded House.

"But what about my dessert?!" House whined.

"Forget your dessert." Wilson stood up, leaving a tip. "You can either stay here and limp home or follow me so I can drop you off."

House made a face. He needed to find new forms of blackmail for this guy. "I gotta piss," he said, limping toward the restrooms.

"I'll be in the car," he called after him, not entirely sure if he had heard.

House _had_ heard him but was still kind of angry about his dessert. He limped toward the entrance of the restroom. He was a little surprised that there was no one inside, despite the full restaurant but closed the door behind him, shrugging it off and promising to spend an _extra_ long time just to piss of Wilson. Just as the doors shut, he sensed someone behind him and started to turn his head.

In a split second, the back of his head hit something hard and dull and he felt as if his head had just shattered into a million pieces. The floor approached him faster than ever and he immediately collapsed on the floor, the side of his head colliding into the cool bathroom tile. Spots decorated his vision like a stars of the night and he saw three of everything. But just before his vision faded completely, he was pushed onto his left side with something long but blunt – his cane he realized – and he finally was given a split second view of his attacker.

_Damn this Heath guy_, were House's final thoughts before everything went dark.

House was pulled towards the back of the restroom by one arm and for a moment, he thought he was about to rip it off.

_Whoa, whoa, whoa_…House thought…He was _thinking_ he realized. He wasn't even unconscious, but he couldn't move and he couldn't see a damn thing. He couldn't even tell if his eyes were opened or closed. He could blink, he could feel that at least, but he couldn't tell up from down and he most certainly didn't know where this maniac was leading him. Perfect. Now he had proof that Ryan was indeed the psychopath and he couldn't do a damn thing about it because he was a useless lump. Joy.

Biting cold hit his face and House swore he at least cringed. Pea size drops of water splashed on his face and dripped down his cheek as the rain poured down. First his head, then his torso, his pants – he was drenched in torrential downpour and he it was freezing outside.

_Geez, at least have the decency to give me a jacket before you drop me off at God knows where. Hmm, maybe he'll drop me off in another van. At least it'll be warmer in there._

Ryan finally let go of him and House's hands dropped beside him. House heard the splashing of Ryan's feet on the concrete floor begin to disappear. Further and further the splashing went and House was left in the middle of God knew where in the rain.

_Shit! Oh, come on!!_

House panicked – for the first time since the entire encounter, he honestly, truly, lost it. Internally of course, he couldn't exactly scream or vent or anything.

_Ok, ok, think…damn it, that's not going to get me anywhere, I need to fucking move!_

But he couldn't move. He could feel everything, the rain seeping through his clothes, the hard concrete ground beneath him that felt like thousands of little knives and his head that felt like it was about to explode and shatter. But he could do nothing about it.

Splashing. Footsteps. Someone was coming.

_Hey! Hey!_ House wanted to scream, and God knew he was screaming it in his mind. _Help!_

His arms were lifted again and he could immediately tell it was no rescuer. Ryan was back and House couldn't believe it, but he was actually grateful. Maybe now he'd take him some other place – a dryer place at least. Ryan lifted him up higher and grabbed his torso, leading him somewhere else. Again, House was grateful since less of his body was scraping against the hard, gritty floor.

He was dropped suddenly and his head hit the concrete. _Aaaaggh!! Goddamn it!_ House could hear metal clanging – a huge container of some sort was opening. It took a while, but he started to smell it – his nose gradually growing accustomed to his new location.

_Oh, God, no…_

Ryan heaved him up one last time and half threw, half tossed him behind the dumpster, kicking him all the way into the back. House couldn't see anything, but he knew he was hidden here.

"Now," Ryan said, speaking for the first time. Yes, it was Ryan. He was sure now. He recognized that stupid voice anywhere. "Now, I'm done with you."

_Splash, splash, splash…splash…splash…_

And he was alone. House didn't know it, but the chance of anyone finding House wasn't too bad – the odds weren't completely against him. The problem was, they probably wouldn't find him alive. It was raining, and it was freezing, despite the fact that it was spring. And it was the dead of night. Workers at Romano's would be taking out the trash every hour on the hour for a while but they wouldn't see him thanks to the dark and the fact that House was so well hidden. Even in the day time, no one would probably find him. Sure, someone might wonder what the cane was doing inside the dumpster but who would honestly give it a second thought? And thanks to the perfect combination of weather, time and circumstance – House would probably freeze to death by the time the cops found him; even if that was only four hours from now. And if he wasn't dead by then, the brain damage would be so severe, there would be no need in keeping him alive. House was a dead man.

So behind the dumpster, so well hidden and not even knowing his own location, House screamed.

Too bad no one could hear him.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Wilson was about to go back into the restaurant to yell at House when his cell phone started ringing.

"Hi, Cuddy," he answered after checking caller ID.

"Hey, where are you guys, I'm already at home." Wilson noted that she didn't _sound_ worried which meant nothing bad had happened, and for that he was thankful.

"I'm waiting for House. He went to use the restroom and he's taking forever to get on my nerves. I told him he couldn't have dessert," Wilson explained.

Cuddy laughed. "Tell him if he's not home in the next fifteen minutes I'm going to beat him with his own cane…and cut off his balls," she added as an afterthought. She could practically see Wilson wince. "Don't worry, he'll get it. _And_ he'll hurry up."

"I'm already about to yell at him. Maybe I'll make him walk in the rain." Wilson opened the restroom door only to find it empty. "What the…?" he began, angrily.

"What?" Cuddy asked sleepily.

"He's…not in the restroom. What type of sick joke is this? I bet he ordered himself some cake. Give me a second, I'm gonna call him."

"Sure, call me back."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was probably Wilson, looking for him, ticked off. He probably already checked the restroom. He and Cuddy would figure out something had happened. They'd find him.

_I'm going to die here_, House told himself. _There's no way I'm getting out of this. No one's going to find me fast enough. I'll be dead, brain dead or delusional at best. I'll lose everything I am; I'm finished. _

He was going to die. There was no need trying to tell himself someone might find him. Someone _will_ find him, he knew. But he also knew that the likelihood of that happening before he was still sane was slim. He was stuck behind a goddamn dumpster!

_Oh, God, Lisa…Lisa_. What would he tell her if he could? _I'm sorry._ For what? _For everything. For loving you._ Why? Why was he sorry? _I made your life miserable, even if you won't say it. And when I finally stopped, when we started going out, when I told you I loved you…here I am…I'm still making your life miserable. Dying's easy, living's hard…and I died and you…you're going to live. And God knows I'm glad that it's you who is going to live. But I'm not making it any easier, disappearing like this, am I? Don't worry for me…please don't worry for me, and don't miss me. I don't want you to miss me. I want you to be happy without me. Please, Lisa. _

_Splash, splash…_ Someone was approaching, but he had long given up trying to scream for someone. It was just another worker at the restaurant throwing at the trash. So far, there had been three of them. How many people would pass him, not knowing they were passing a living person, or soon to be, a dead man? When they found him, what would people think? That he was just some bum that had slept in the rain? That he was drunk? Lisa wouldn't think that though, and Wilson knew the truth.

_Wilson, if you feel guilty I'm going to haunt you. Seriously, I will. _

The rain was chilling him to the bone. He couldn't feel his fingers or toes and he was shivering. He was wet and cold – a dangerously effective combination. He was tired and though sleep was probably the best escape, it was equally dangerous. If he slept, he'd die with as little pain as possible, but if he stayed awake, he'd feel the rain pouring down on him and feel it perform its magic. But he'd live longer. He wanted to sleep, to give up, to give in to the inevitable. But he saw Lisa Cuddy's face every time his thoughts dwindled and his brain threatened to shut down.

He wouldn't sleep. It was nearly impossible to stay awake since everything was darkness. It was so easy to succumb but he had learned the trick – keep thinking. As long as he was thinking, he was awake. So he wouldn't sleep. He'd stay awake for as long as he could. For her. For Lisa.

_Because I love you. Because I want to see you one more time. I want to hold on to you, to love you. I love you…Because I love you…_

His breath grew shallower, but still, he did not sleep.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Wilson, where is he!" Cuddy half screamed almost twenty minutes later.

"I've called him multiple times but it's telling me that his voicemail is full. I've checked with the restaurant, with the manager, no one knows where he is."

"The police…" Cuddy said automatically.

"I already did," Wilson gasped frantically. "Come back to Romano's, I have no idea where he is…he couldn't have gone far, it's pouring rain outside. They've got a few of the workers looking for him in here--"

"But they can't find him, can they?" Cuddy said, panicking. "They don't know…they…"

"Cuddy, calm down," Wilson said, though it was almost impossible for him to follow his own advice. "Look, how about I pick you up?"

"No, I want you to stay when the police arrive, talk to them. I'll be there in a few minutes."

She hung up, tears rolling down her face. It was Ryan. There was no doubt in her mind that it was Ryan who had taken him. Where was he now? Where was Ryan? Should she call him? No, not yet. She wanted Ryan to be in prison and she had wanted him to do something incriminating enough, but she did NOT want this to happen. She didn't want House to get hurt. She didn't want him to suffer, to be in pain. Where was he? And how did Ryan even know Wilson and House were there?

She couldn't lose him. She couldn't go through this a second time. She couldn't lose him….

_**One and a half hours later…**_

House could move his lips. Either he had magically figured out how to do it or the head injury wasn't as bad as he thought. He still couldn't _say_ anything or see anything but he could feel his lips open and close slightly – like a guppy's.

He also wasn't so sure he'd be able to stay awake for much longer. Thinking was becoming impossible, he felt like he was spinning though he was practically blind and had the urge to throw up. But that would have been instant death. He couldn't move so he'd end up choking on his own vomit. And that's just _gross_, he told himself.

He wasn't breathing as often anymore – it hurt to take in a breath and when he did, it sounded like he was wheezing and his upper body ached. His chest was cold, he was soaked. It had to end soon. It had to.

_No, it can't. You have to try harder. For Lisa, you can't just quit._

_Yes, I can…it's over. Just sleep. I've tried hard enough…It's over. Stop. Quit. _

_I can't…for Lisa. I can't just stop. I can't sleep. I need to—_

_Sleep, sleep…_

Sleep. It was perfect. It was what he wanted the most right now. Just to sleep. To leave forever, for it to stop hurting, to stop the cold, to stop the fear of the inevitable. To escape…

Laughing. He heard laughing. If his eyes could have snapped open, they would have. Two guys and two girls, having a laugh, messing around. Teenagers probably. Barking.

Wait, the teenagers were barking? _No, they aren't, you dumbass. They have a dog_.

They have a dog.

They have a goddamn dog!

_I better be alive enough to release some sort of scent. Good, dog…_

"You're idiot dog's gonna blow our cover," one of the girls giggled. She sounded drunk.

"Tell it to shut up!" one of the guys yelled.

The dog continued barking. It was getting closer to House. His anticipation rose and his heart leapt – barely, it was already slowing down to a dangerous rate. His pulse was probably still well below average. But the dog was approaching, sniffing around until he felt its muzzle move his leg around.

_Good, dog_, House said, still fighting sleep.

"He probably found himself some steak someone threw out," one of the girls said about to retrieve the pet. "Come on, Charlie…that's a good boy. Let's go now…Come--"

She immediately stopped and House guessed she had noticed the body. His body. And she screamed bloody murder.

"Holy shit!!!"

"Shit, shit, shit….Holy….oh, God…"

"Call the police! Oh, God!"

"Is he alive…? Shit…"

More screaming.

"What is going on here!?" This new voice was angry and there was more splashing, more commotion. More people were coming out.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"What's going on?" Cuddy asked Wilson worriedly, her eyes red as a few of the waitresses ran out through a backdoor. Screaming, commotion. The screaming scared her the most.

The two of them followed the small crowd of waitresses and police outside despite the rain and pushed their way towards the front of the crowd, Wilson beside her.

House. A waitress and a police officer were pulling him out from behind a dumpster. His eyes were closed, his face was dirty and wet – his entire body was soaked, his clothes drenched. He had been out here for well over an hour, if not more. Her House. Her Greg – soaked in rain water, stuffed behind a dumpster…

She was speechless, unable to move, unable to think – for a little more than a second and a half. Then her mind came back to her and she broke.

"_House!!!!!!_"

She forgot the people watching the scene unfold, she forgot about Wilson, about the sirens in the background, approaching. She forgot about the cop and waitress carrying him. She forgot about the rain pounding around her. Only House. Her House. Her Greg.

"House, look at me…Greg, look at me…please, Greg…Greg, don't leave me…" she repeated time and time again, hoping she'd reach him. He was cold, deathly cold. But he had slight pulse and was breathing. He was there. He was still there. Barely. She hardly noticed it at first but his lips were moving.

"I'm here, Greg, I'm here…"

_Lisa…_

It was a whisper, nothing more, and despite the rain, the crowd…despite everything, she heard it.

"Greg…" she couldn't tell the difference between the tears on her face and the rain. It was all the same to her now.

_Lisa…_

"Go back!" One of the policemen yelled to the crowd of waitresses who were too shocked do really do anything.

"I'm here, Greg, I'm here…Don't leave me, please…"

_Lisa…Lisa…_

"I'm here, Greg…"

**Woo, that was a crazy one. Especially for me, considering I wrote it all today. Missing USB drive and all. Longer than my last chapter and I have a feeling you guys probably like it a lot more than my last one. Please leave a review! I still have some ideas in the back of my mind for what's coming up next but reviews are constant motivators. Thank you, World! And Good night! **

**:)**

**review pleaz**

**peace.**


	31. Chapter 31: Answer Me, My Love

**Enjoy my fellow readers! Oh…and I found my flash drive!!!!! :)**

**I don't own House. **

Chapter 31: Answer Me, My Love

The ambulance was approaching, but they weren't there yet. The cops were too busy trying to send the crowd of waiters and waitresses back into the restaurant and the rain was still pouring down, harder than ever. They needed to move him – but where? The restaurant was an obvious no but there was a corner of the alley that was covered by an overhead roof. Quickly, Wilson and Cuddy moved him a few feet over, shielding him from the rain.

_Now I can sleep…they found me so I can sleep…_

_No, you can't, you idiot! There's no ambulance yet. Stay awake…_

He felt Cuddy's fingers touch the side of his neck to check his pulse, as if to make sure he was really there. He knew he was deathly still and that it was terrifying, especially for her. His pulse was growing faint and she was worried how much longer he could go on. His eyes were closed, he couldn't even open and close them anymore, and his lips were moving slightly still as if he was trying to say something but no sound came out. Besides that, there was no other movement. He looked like a corpse, and he knew it.

"Just stay with me, Greg," he heard her tell him. Her hands made their way to his head and gently patted it, as if searching for something.

"There has to be a head injury," Cuddy said anxiously, still searching for a telltale sign.

Sirens, they were getting closer now. _Then you can sleep…_ He felt someone open one of his eyelids and heard something click but saw nothing. He felt helpless and frustrated that he couldn't do anything.

"His pupils are reactive," Wilson said. Another click.

"What's this…?" Cuddy asked, her hand now at the back of his head. She touched it lightly but when she placed a little pressure, House felt like squirming. _Mmm…aaggh! That hurts!_

"Here…there's pressure in the back of his head, we need to check--"

House couldn't hear what they were saying anymore, the sirens seemed so much closer now and House couldn't concentrate on one thing. He was sure he was slipping in and out of consciousness and before he knew it, he was being lifted onto a gurney and back into the rain. The last thing he remembered before falling back into unconsciousness was the heavy rain pounding into his flesh.

Cuddy seemed to notice that he was out. His lips stopped moving, he was growing colder now and she was threatening to break down – but she couldn't do that, she couldn't afford to. She needed to get the rational part of her mind to start working. This wasn't just a gunshot wound that needed to be taken care of through surgery. There was possible brain damage thanks to the thick knot in the back of his head and the fact that he hadn't voluntarily moved from his position though he seemed to have been conscious. He was hypothermic, probably had pneumonia and complications were bound to follow. No, she couldn't lose it now.

After hastily explaining that she was a doctor, the EMT team agreed to take her on board and again, Wilson was forced to ride with a cop back to the hospital.

"What's his temp?" one of the EMTs asked cutting his shirt away as the ambulance quickly sped down the road.

"91.2," another EMT answered. "Mild hypothermia."

"What's the closest hospital?" Cuddy asked, knowing for sure it definitely wasn't Princeton Plainsboro. She checked his O2 sats, pulse and blood pressure on all the monitors – everything was low and he still wasn't moving.

"Princeton General – about eleven minutes."

Eleven minutes. She hated not being able to take him to Princeton Plainsboro – she wanted to have that sense of control over the situation, to choose his treatment, how he was treated; to do it her way and to do it fast. But Princeton General was just going to have to do. Eleven minutes. _Hold on, Greg._

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"What have we got?" one of the doctors asked the EMTs as House was quickly rolled down the hallway, an oxygen mask resting on his face. His heart rate was increasing and so was his temperature but a little too fast – she didn't want him to go into shock.

"Mild hypothermia," Cuddy began. "He was left in the rain for an hour and a half."

The doctor seemed annoyed that it was Cuddy answering the questions but she couldn't care any less what he thought. "Ma'am, we're going to need you to step in the waiting room while the EMTs clue us in on his condition."

Cuddy's blood was boiling, but she maintained composure, ignoring his instruction. "Temperature of 92.3, O2 sats are at eighty five percent and slowly climbing. Possible concussion and was hit by something blunt on the back of his head – occipital lobe would the primary concern and MRI of his lung to rule out pneumonia." She stood on one side of the gurney and under the head technician's direction, lifted him up and placed him on the hospital gurney. Once that was done, she watched the team quickly send House to another part of the hospital and she turned to look at cocky middle aged doctor who looked shocked, baffled and hopelessly embarrassed.

"I'm dean of medicine of Princeton Plainsboro," Cuddy explained. "Give me the papers you need signed and I expect to be fully informed of his condition at all times."

The doctor nodded slightly, quickly shuffling away to get the papers she needed and as soon as she did, Cuddy collapsed into one of the seats and held her face in her hands. The tears she had hidden so well for the last ten minutes gushed down her face silently. In her mind, she connected all the complications and searched for possible long term effects. Pneumonia – they could deal with that; antibiotics and warm IV fluids. His O2 sats would increase in time, so would his temperature. The hypothermia could be dealt with. But she was much more worried about his brain. His head.

It was how he defined himself. His brain was his strength, his weakness, and if he lost any part of it, if a complication led to something bigger, she didn't know how he would make it. It was the back of his head that had been injured – vision was all she was _supposed_ to be worried about. But he hadn't even moved since he had been missing – voluntary movement had disappeared almost completely and it was almost impossible to tell consciousness from unconsciousness in his state. If movement and eyesight were gone – and he wasn't even awake – what else would they realize was missing by the time he woke up?

_Please…I can take anything, handle anything, but not his brain…please, not his brain…_

She felt a hand on her back and she didn't even flinch, knowing it was Wilson who had finally arrived.

"It's going to be alright. He'll pull through, he always does," Wilson reassured her.

"What if it's his brain?" Cuddy whispered. "What if it's his head…he wouldn't want to live like that…" At the last sentence, she almost lost all composure. Saying it out loud, voicing her greatest fear made it seem that much more real – it was a legitimate possibility.

"You can't think like that…"

"But it's true, and it's possible, Wilson…" What would she do? If worst came to worst and the man she knew wasn't there anymore? What if the next time he woke up, he was only the shell of the man he used to be? Or worse, what if he never woke up at all…what if the brain damage was too severe and she was forced to let go? Could she do it? Could she let go?

No, she thought to herself, even though she knew it was selfish. She felt almost evil for thinking so but she knew if it ever came to that, she wouldn't even be able to let go. Someone else might pull the plug for him, knowing there was nothing left, but she herself would never be able to let go, even after he was gone.

The once obnoxious doctor brought Cuddy the papers and for the first time, she found herself in the position of the loved one. Not the patient, not the doctor – and definitely not the dean of medicine. Helpless. The top of the page read: _Patient Name_.

She had written House's name dozens of times in the past. When she handed over a new patient or a case to him, when she had to contact a lawyer for the latest stunt he had attempted to pull. Now she was rewriting his name again. But in the wrong location. His name was supposed to go up there, where it said _Attending Physician. _Instead, another name she didn't know was filled in, not her own. With a dexterous hand, she filled in Gregory House's name under "patient" and slowly made her way down the forms.

As she filled it out, she thought back. Where had she been five hours ago? Ten hours ago? Twenty four hours ago? She hadn't been so scared, so worried then. Five hours ago, she was with House and he was complaining about clinic duty, paperwork, and his team in general. She had been laughing at all his crazy analogies and metaphors. She had been with him without a care in the world, eagerly listening to his complaints and picking them apart, throwing them back at him and casually making fun. She had told him that she wanted Ryan to try something incriminating enough that would put him in prison, but that she hadn't wanted him to get hurt…that was the last thing on her mind, to see him get hurt. And now here she was, filling out a patient form under his name.

Wilson and Cuddy said nothing as she filled it out and Wilson used the information she was writing in to clue himself in on House's condition and immediately understood Cuddy's worry. It wasn't the hypothermia that was the scariest – but the impact on his head. That's what they all needed to worry about.

The doctor took the forms when she was done, inspecting it. His eyes widened. "Gregory House? _The _Gregory House?" he asked, impressed.

She had a sudden urge to slap him right across the face even though it wasn't his fault. House may be an annoying, narcissistic pain in the ass but very few doctors _didn't_ admire – if not for his method but at least for his genius.

"Have they started the MRI?" she asked, ignoring the doctor's amazement.

"They already have--" he started.

"I want the results of every test," Cuddy warned him firmly. Her red eyes gave away her fear but her tone was enough to prove that she was serious. "_Every_ test. I want to see every CT scan, MRI and I want them as soon as the copies can be made. And I _don't_ want anything kept from me."

They were so alike, Wilson thought to himself. Cuddy and House – he was sometimes worried that their similarities would clash. They were equally stubborn, knew what they wanted, when they wanted it and how they wanted it done and accepted nothing less. The only difference was that Cuddy was slightly more composed when faced with disagreement, but in the end she always got her way. House would lie, steal and cheat and call you an idiot and eventually get his way. Their means were different, but the motive and results were identical.

House had to make it, Wilson realized. He probably didn't even know it but House had done so much for her. They had done so much for each other – they had made each other _happy_. The Gregory House who was convinced that "relationship" was synonymous with "hell on earth" and happiness was an unattainable goal had finally learned to accept both. And Cuddy who had dived into her work with increasing frenzy over the years had learned to let it go, to have fun, to be _happy_, not just productive. And if House was out of the picture, where was she? She wouldn't just go back to the person she was before. No, she'd go further and just how far, Wilson wasn't sure. And he didn't want to think about it. He couldn't imagine her without him now.

He should have been more careful. He should have just bought House his Goddamn chocolate cake. Then they would have left the restaurant and he wouldn't have gone to use the restroom just to piss him off. He knew Ryan was after him and it was stupid of him to not follow him. Sure, House would have whined that he was no baby but what else could he have done except whine anyway? This was all his fault. And his stupid mistake wasn't going to just ruin House's life, but Cuddy's as well.

"This is my fault," he said aloud. "I knew Ryan was after him. It's common sense to be extra careful. I should have followed him or at least bough him the damn cake. I shouldn't have just left him--"

"It's not your fault," Cuddy told him. "Ryan had already left out the front door. I don't even know how he made it to the back of the restaurant without me noticing."

"What if it wasn't Ryan?" Wilson asked. "What if it's…"

"What? Another accomplice?" Cuddy was skeptical. "Ethan's a dumbass. Ryan isn't. Ryan already tried an accomplice and look at where that got him – Ethan's in jail for life because of his own vendetta against House. Ryan's vendetta…I don't even know what it is…but Ryan's a lot smarter. He's not going to get someone else involved. He'll just do the dirty work himself this time since hiring someone else failed so badly. It has to be Ryan."

"House might know…maybe he saw him or recognized him…"

"I don't even know if House is going to remember anything," Cuddy mumbled. But what she really meant was _I don't know if House is going to still be there in the next couple hours. I don't know if I'm going to lose him…_

_**Midnight**_

The MRI and CT showed only intracranial pressure and the excess fluid had been drained. His O2 sats were in range though he was still wearing an oxygen mask. House was diagnosed with pneumonia and was on IV fluids as well as antibiotics. The only problem was that his temperature was rising past the normal range. He had been given antipyretics for the fever but the dose had only been administered moments ago. If she had been the doctor and was talking to the patient, she would have told the family that he would be fine. And he would be, but the information Cuddy still wanted to know wasn't going to be made available until he was awake – how much damage the blow on the head had caused.

Wilson felt damn guilty and Cuddy knew it, but she didn't blame him. This wasn't his fault and she had told him that time after time again. But Wilson still wasn't buying it. And seeing his best friend lying in a hospital bed, unconscious, was tearing him apart.

"You can't really blame yourself, Wilson," she had told him.

"It has to be _someone's _fault. And I was with him. I shouldn't have left."

"It's Ryan's fault. This didn't happen because of you."

"Right," Wilson muttered as he sat down in one of the chairs in the room, kneading his forehead.

For the last hour, they had been there, reassuring each other, telling each other that the worst was over, that he'd pull through, though neither of them were entirely sure themselves. But they needed something to hold on to, even if it was just wishful thinking. They had fallen asleep not long after he had been brought in and Cuddy had woken up just a few minutes ago, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the unwavering and stable numbers on his monitor.

She stood beside him, noticing that he looked more like he was just sleeping than anything else. There was life in him, coursing through his veins. She touched his cheek, tracing his jaw line with the back of her finger.

The corner of his mouth twitched just like it did when he was sleeping and the hint of a worried and apprehensive smile found its way on Cuddy's face. He groaned a little, stirring slightly and the smile disappeared, replaced with concern and anticipation. She found herself holding her breath, hoping and praying.

"House…" she whispered, biting her lip. "I'm here…"

He didn't open his eyes but he started chuckling as if he had just heard a funny joke. He turned on his side, facing Cuddy and frowned a little, realizing there was something on his face. His right hand made it up to his face in a jerky motion as he tried to rip it off.

"No, Greg, you can't--" Cuddy started, leading his hand away.

He wasn't just chuckling anymore; he was laughing almost maniacally, the mask bobbing up and down his face as he grinned like an insane Cheshire cat.

"House?" she asked worried looking at his monitor. The fever was rising, not falling despite the antipyretics. "I need help in here!" Cuddy called out as she pressed the button on the side of the bed. Wilson jolted awake and quickly made his way next to Cuddy as nurses and doctors alike ran to see what the problem was.

House's eyes popped open, focusing on nothing in particular. He was still laughing, smiling foolishly, despite the cooling blankets now surrounding him and the worried expression on everyone else's face – especially Cuddy and Wilson's.

"He's delusional," Cuddy said aloud, stating the obvious. She held her face in her hand, trying not to break. _He's delusional…it's his brain…_

_No…it's the fever. He's fine. He's going to be fine…_

_It's his brain…_

House continued to laugh, grinning like a child.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**Two hours later…**_

The first thing that came back to House was his hearing. He heard the beeping of a nearby monitor, shuffling feet maybe a dozen meters away, a few people quietly discussing. He was in a hospital, he could guess that immediately and even though he hadn't opened his eyes yet, he knew it wasn't Princeton Plainsboro.

Slowly, his senses awakened. A light piece of plastic shaped like a cup was on his mouth – an oxygen mask he suspected. The room was sterile and the scent of disinfectants and sanitization filled his nostrils. The weight of the blanket on his arms, the hospital gown – he was aware of its presence. He wasn't paralyzed. All hope was not lost.

Experimentally, he tried to move his fingers. He felt them shift, almost reluctantly and with hesitation – but they did move. Again, an even heavier burden was lifted. He shifted though even that slight movement was straining, and finally opened his eyes.

Nothing. He blinked. Still nothing. It wasn't dark, black or heavenly white. He felt like he was staring into a bottomless pit that led to an expanse of nothingness. Oblivion. Dessertion. He wished he at least saw black, but instead he didn't _see_ anything. He was surrounded by void, in an entire land and world of his own. Where he was, the concept of sight was foreign, there was nothing to see, no reason to see…

_Oh, God..._

His pulse quickened, realizing that this might be permanent and most likely was. The monitors beeped and they seemed even further away though he knew they couldn't be but a few feet away from him. He grabbed the side of his bed, trying to sit up but couldn't find the strength.

"Greg?"

It was Cuddy and she sounded like she had just woken up from a short nap. Her throat sounded dry but her voice came out clothed in hope. House immediately closed his eyes, not sure if she was coming to him or not. He knew if he opened them, it would become obvious that he was blind since his eyes wouldn't be focused. And though he knew this was serious, he didn't want her worrying over him even more than she already was. For now, he would keep her in the dark so to speak, allow her to think that he was fine, that there was nothing wrong. _Let her think he was just tired; she didn't need another burden added on to her now._

"Greg…?" she started again. He felt her hand on his arm and fought the urge to open his eyes. _No, she doesn't need to know now. Not yet…tired…let her think I'm tired…_

He swallowed, hating himself for choosing to lie to her like that, but deciding it was better if he did. Maybe in the long run, she'd be angry, maybe even hate him. But she couldn't tell her the truth after hearing her voice. So he did what he did best. He lied.

"Hi, Lisa," he whispered, his voice hoarse. But it was loud enough for her to hear, and for her to get the reassurance she needed.

She wrapped her arm around him and buried her face in his chest, sobbing quietly and he slowly, brought his arm around her, resting his hand on her head, weaving his fingers through the rich, thick curls. He breathed in and out evenly, trying to draw a picture of her in his mind with the senses he had remaining. To think he'd never see her…see her wake up in the morning, see her eyebrows furrow and her eyes glare at him when she found out he was skipping clinic duty or cutting in line for the MRI, her smile that lit up his day…

He'd miss it. All of it.

"Oh, God, Greg…I thought…" Cuddy gasped into his chest, feeling infinitely times safer and relieved. He had pulled through, made a complete recovery. Almost complete, House knew, but for now, let her think he had made a 100% recovery. At least until she could handle the news. Maybe tomorrow, after she had rested, after her worry and fear had diminished. She needed to rest.

He felt her pull away and take his face in her hands. He knew what the gesture meant. _Look at me_.

_But I can't_. Hesitantly, he cracked his eyes opening, the void surrounding him. He knew where Cuddy had to be so he did his best to look in her general direction. Even if he was off, she wouldn't worry for now. After all he had been unconscious for such a long time. He was bound to be slightly disoriented.

_God, I hope I'm looking in the right direction,_ he hoped.

The tip of her finger and traced his hairline and he slowly closed his eyes again. He had passed. For now. And that was going to have to be good enough. Her lips lightly touched his cheek and he bit back the urge to scream out, _I can't see! I can't see you!_ But he kept quiet and again, Cuddy embraced him. He reached for her arm and held on. She was the only one keeping him grounded. His lack of sight made him feel like he was isolated in his own universe. But if he held on to her, he knew that he wasn't alone.

**Craa—aaa—zy chapter, especially the whole "I shall make House blind" moment I had during Calculus today (oh, yeah…I'm such a serious student…yipes, senioritis…)**

**Oh, and FYI, the song chapter titles don't mean that the actual song goes with the entire chapter. It's just the title of the song that matches the chapter – sometimes in a very abstract way. Does that make sense? **

**Chapter 30's song credits: I Can't Stand the Rain by Tina Turner (I love this song)**

**Chapter 31's song credits: Answer me, My Love by Nat King Cole**

**And, of course, one itty bitty but still VERY important thing…**

**Review on your way out please!! Thx! **


	32. Chapter 32: Funny the Way It Is

**I think I got a total of 5 reviews that told me I was evil…at least I evoked an emotion, right? Am I right? *giggles nervously* Am I right? Yeah? Am I… *grimaces fearfully at glaring eyes *. No? Ok…Ahem, moving on…**

**JK, I LOVE all you guys, and I get the sarcasm (I'm not **_**that**_** stupid)**

…

**Err…moving on (again), enjoy the ride! ^_^**

Chapter 32: Funny the Way It Is

"Wilson, it's me…yeah, I'm fine. He's fine too; he woke up earlier this morning…"

These were the words House woke up to many hours later, but he kept his eyes closed as he listened in on Cuddy's conversation on the phone, trying to gather as much information as possible before he "officially" woke up.

"He's fine, Wilson." He could hear the relief in her voice and dreaded having to tell her the truth. He was most definitely _not_ fine. "He's off the oxygen and the antibiotics are taking care of the pneumonia…"

_I have pneumonia?!?!_

"He should be here for a few more days and that's it…Of course you can see him, what do you think I'm going to do, lock you out?...I don't know…you can ask him when you get here…alright…Bye."

She hung up but House's eyes remained closed though he sensed her approaching. She sighed. "I know you're awake."

House scrunched up his face, eyes still shut. "How did you know?" he questioned. His voice wasn't as hoarse and he felt stronger now. He was improving.

"The side of your mouth twitches and you _never_ stay so still," she said, smiling and sitting next to him. She propped her elbow on the bed and rested her head in her hand, watching him, glad that he was okay. House felt the pressure on the bed and knew she was beside her. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"A little tired…"

She desperately wanted to see his blue eyes. If she looked into them, she could finally rest. "Why won't you open your eyes?" she asked.

He hesitated. There was no point putting it off. He was going to have to open them eventually. "I'm tired…" he repeated.

"Yeah, well, I still need to check your pupils before your doctor gets his obnoxious ass in here. Believe me, you won't like him. You'd probably bite his finger off."

"My pupils are equal, round and reactive," House finished for her, turning a little, pretending to go back to sleep.

She slapped him across the face. Not too hard, just a light and playful tap that quickly got his attention. His eyes snapped open. "Ow!"

"That didn't hurt," Cuddy said, taking out her pocket sized flashlight. His pupils were reactive but they didn't seem focused and she frowned, slightly worried at this. "House…can see alright?"

"Uh…" House began, not sure what to tell her.

"Follow my finger," she said placing her index finger on her chin and slowly moving the index finger of her right hand right across his face.

House knew it was over now. She had been spared a few hours of worry, and now was the time for the relief to flee and the concern to return back into her system. He looked down, away, he didn't know. But he definitely wasn't looking at her finger. "I can't," he admitted quietly, his blue eyes dashing from one thing to the next, searching for something to look at but finding nothing.

Cuddy didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

House hesitated. "I can't see," he told her simply, the guilt of worrying her again coursing through his body. "I can't see anything."

She dropped her hands slowly as she looked into his eyes. His blue eyes darted from one thing to the next in a frenzy; and when his eyes finally took a moment to rest, they were focused on something far behind her. She said nothing, refusing to believe it. _No, he's fine. He woke up yesterday and he was fine…_ "You can't…" she started, unable to finish, holding his left cheek in her hand.

House shook his head slowly, hating the fear he heard in her voice.

"What do you see?" Cuddy asked quickly. "Just…black or white, or…"

House shook his head again. "I don't know. It's…I don't know, I don't know what I see…"

_Oh, God, no…please, no_…Cuddy hoped silently. "When did you notice this?" she asked quickly, hoping there was a loophole somewhere, a chance that they could fix this.

"I…" he began, dreading telling her the truth.

"What was the last thing you saw?" she asked firmly, almost pleading.

_Look at what you've done_, House told himself. _She was fine this morning and now…now she's scared, she's worried…_ "Last night, after I was hit on the head…I saw Ryan, and then I blacked out."

"Ryan. Ryan was the last person you saw…" The day that bastard showed his face anywhere near her she'd kill him. Strangle him with her bare hands for doing this to him. "And when did you realize you still couldn't see anything?"

_Tell her the truth_. "Last night…or this morning, I don't know…when I woke up."

"You realized you were blind this morning and you didn't tell me?!" she screeched. Of course she was angry – why had he kept quiet? But more importantly, she was scared. A drop of salt water threatened to escape the corner of her eyes and she furiously wiped it away before it could fall.

"Why didn't you say anything? We could have run tests sooner, we--"

"I didn't want you to worry."

"You didn't want me to _worry_? And I suppose this is better, to have me freak out now?" What the hell was he thinking?

"I couldn't tell you last night, I didn't want to…" he tried to explain, for the first time at a loss for words. _Last night, you were so scared. And when I woke up, you finally calmed down, had a rest of mind. And I couldn't take that away from you, even if I knew it was only temporary. Even if I knew it was a lie. _

She understood this, even if he didn't say it, and it was this unspoken understanding that made her frustration disappear, but not the fear. "We'll…run more tests…" Cuddy said, reassuring House but mostly herself. _We'll figure this out._ "We'll do a fluroescin angiogram…"

"_If_ it's my eyes," House muttered.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cuddy asked, jumping to the defensive on his behalf.

"But what if it's not?" he asked, lifting his head up and attempting to look in her general direction. "What if it's not my eyes?" If it wasn't his retina or even his optic nerve, then it was his brain. And if it was his brain, then only time would tell, which was doctor language for 'Don't expect a miracle any time soon'.

"Then…we'll figure something out," she said, taking his hand, reaching out to him.

"Okay," he said simply, unable to hide his defeat. That was that; no arguing, no conflict, no need to point out that his chances were slim. His hopes had already been dashed and he didn't expect a recovery. For both of his eyes to be damaged at the same time, there needed to be a similar cause – and the only thing that made sense was the blow to the head. And in that case, it would be damage to his occipital lobe that would cause the blindness. Problem found, but solution nonexistent. There was nothing that could be done. He was defeated, and he had given up before the search even began.

The doors to the hospital slid open and House waited for whoever had just entered to say something. Cuddy turned, silent tears sliding down her cheeks.

"What happened?" Wilson asked, his excitement of seeing his friend crumbling and dread taking hold. "What's going on?"

Cuddy sighed. "Greg, I'm going to step out okay? I'll talk to Wilson and find that idiot doctor."

He said nothing as she left, not even joining her in insulting his doctor. He just sat there, staring off into nothingness. Cuddy watched the defeat take hold of him, his acceptance, his apathy and she felt like someone had sliced her heart in half. When he had lost the use of his leg, he was angry. He was frustrated. Now, he didn't even have anger left. She preferred the anger because she knew he still felt _something_. Because then, she knew he still cared.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"What's going on?" Wilson asked again as soon as Cuddy was outside.

She turned to look at House through the glass doors. He was sitting upright and staring straight ahead. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

"Cuddy…"

"He can't see anything," she finally told him. "He's blind."

Wilson instantly looked at House and saw it – his unfocused his eyes. He looked lost. "Are…are you sure it's not temporary…?"

"_He_ doesn't think it's temporary," she answered.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing!" she almost cried out. "That's just it, he isn't telling me anything. He discovered he couldn't see anything this morning and when he woke up, he didn't tell me. He made me think he was fine and he didn't even tell me this morning. I had to figure it out. And when I told him we'd run a fleurescin angiogram, he was completely apathetic." She let Wilson digest this, knowing that the news had hit him hard. "He's just accepted it, Wilson. He's quitting. He's giving up."

Wilson didn't say anything. He just looked at his best friend, usually filled with energy and the urge to mess with everyone around him. And yet, there he was, looking like he had just been thrown into a desert, where everything looked the same no matter which direction you faced. "He's blind?" he asked, not willing to accept it. "How can…?" He shook his head, emphatically. "No, he can't be blind. That's just cruel. First his leg, now he can't _see_?" House couldn't be that unlucky.

He sighed, not even knowing what to think anymore. "How is he?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Physically, he's fine. Other than that…I've already told you. He's lethargic, apathetic, indifferent. I know he cares, I know he's scared but…I've never seen him like this."

"The same thing happened with his leg," Wilson told her.

"Yes, _after_ he got angry. It's like he's completely skipped the anger and gone into seclusion. And if this isn't reversible, I don't…_know_…how he's going to make it, how we'll handle it, everything that's going to change--"

"Whoa, hold on," Wilson interrupted. "There's nothing that says this _isn't_ reversible. We haven't run any tests…have you talked to his physician?"

"I will." Cuddy hated hearing Wilson say that – 'have you talked to his physician'. _She_ was supposed to be his physician; she was the one who was supposed to be making the calls. Now, instead of getting his eyes tested immediately they'd have to wait until the doctor was available.

"I talked to Weston," Wilson said suddenly. "I called her, told her what happened but, of course, she wants to talk to House. She said she'll run an entire investigation of what happened last night, talk to the manager, find any witnesses--"

"House said he saw him," Cuddy interrupted. "He saw Ryan just before he blacked out…Ryan was the last person he saw." Her tone changed suddenly and she frowned, angrily, her eyes taking on an evil glint. "I swear to God, Wilson, if I ever see Ryan I'm going to tear him apart. I don't think I could hate him more than I do right now…with Ethan, I was just scared. But with Ryan…I hate him. I just hate him."

Wilson looked at House again, his gut wrenching. He looked…beaten.

"You can talk to him," Cuddy told him, realizing his mind was really in that room. "I'm going to go and look for his doctor and see how fast we can get the procedure done. Could you stay with him?"

"Of course I will," Wilson told her.

"Thanks."

She turned to leave and Wilson opened the door to House's room. House's head jerked slightly and he turned to face him. At first, Wilson said nothing, not even sure what to say.

"A wise man once told me that it's rude to not introduce yourself when you walk into a room," House said, making a face.

"And an annoying friend once told me that that wise man needs a real job," Wilson answered back, playing along. "And it's me…Wilson."

"I _know_ that!" House said, suddenly on the defensive. "I'm not _stupid_."

Wilson sighed, chuckling slightly. "Right…how're you feeling?"

House twisted his mouth to the side, pretending to think about it. "Hmm…okay, let's think about that. I can't see…"

"Okay, okay, I get it….stupid question." Wilson mended. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," he lied. "What time is it?"

"Ten thirty."

"What the…?" House moaned, massaging his forehead with both of his hands. The fact that so many hours could pass him like that without him knowing was beyond him. And now that he couldn't see, he had no sense of time at all. He couldn't look out the window to see if the sun was setting, check the hallway to see how many people were working…he had no frame of reference.

"Your team is already starting to ask questions," Wilson told him. "Should I give them the hooker excuse or should we throw them in a maze with one piece of cheese and observe where they go from there?"

"I like the second one," House said quickly. "The only problem with it is that one of the mice _will_ eventually find the cheese. Tell them my mom died – it's code for I'm not coming to work and don't come looking for me."

"I figured as much."

As soon as Wilson said that, the doors opened and House's head perked up. "Who is that?"

"I want to transfer you to Princeton Plainsboro," Cuddy answered first. Wilson looked at House to see what he would say to that.

House frowned, his eyes focused straight ahead, nowhere near Cuddy's location. "Why?" he asked blatantly. His tone was proof that he did _not_ like this new idea very much.

"Your doctor's an ass."

"Well, _I'm_ insulted."

"He won't get the angiogram done today."

"So pull some strings!" he asked, like this was the stupidest excuse he had ever heard.

"This isn't my hospital!"

"It's never mine either but that hasn't stopped me!"

"I think I should give you two a minute," Wilson said, slowly standing up to leave the room. He definitely didn't want to be caught in the crossfire though he secretly hoped House would give her a break.

Cuddy sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "Greg, do you want to wait until tomorrow to get the angiogram done, or can we transfer you back to Princeton Plainsboro and get it done in the next couple hours? It's that simple."

"Nothing's going to change from today to tomorrow."

"It's not about what's going to change it's about figuring out what this is so we can fix it!"

"There's nothing to fix."

"You don't know that." Cuddy said, trying to understand why he was so adamant on believing this was permanent. Why he was willing to accept it without any tangible proof? "Why don't you want to just get this done now? Why do you want this to be permanent?"

"What I want is meaningless. It's not important."

"Well, there's a reason you don't want to get this done _now_. And I don't understand why not."

House leaned back, saying nothing for a moment.

"Why don't you want us to check?" Cuddy asked again.

"I don't care if you check. I know we're not going to find anything."

"No, you _don't_."

House laughed. "Right…"

"Greg…" Cuddy pleaded. She hated that he was taking this lying down – no resistance.

He sighed. "I don't want to go, because I don't want to deal with anything. I don't want to deal with my team, the nurses, the questions…I don't need that. Not now."

She sat next to him, finally understanding. "I can…admit you under a pseudonym," she suggested, holding her breath and hoping he'd agree. "Nobody needs to know."

"Why does it even matter?" he asked suddenly. "If I transfer it's more hassle. I know it's not my retina or my optic nerve."

"You can't know and it doesn't hurt to--"

"Your hoping isn't going to fix or change anything. But that's why you want me to get the angiogram done now! Because you hope this is reversible."

"Yes, I do!" Cuddy said angrily. "Because the alternative is a lot worse!"

"Hoping isn't going to get you anywhere," he spat, frustrated. "You know it makes no sense and the odds that the problem is my retina are one in a billion. Considering I got whacked in the head by a psycho with God knows what, I know for a fact that it's my brain!"

"Do you _want_ it to be your brain? Is that it?"

"No, but I _do_ know when to just _let go_."

He closed his eyes tightly, hating the words that had just come out of his mouth. He was hurting her, throwing it in his face that he had given up on hoping, making her inhale the fact that he was blind – for good. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be hurting her more.

The room was deathly silent and he wasn't sure if she was still in the room. "Lisa?" he started hesitantly. He wouldn't be surprised if she had just left.

"Yeah?" she answered and House exhaled.

"I'll transfer," he said simply.

"No, it's fine you don't have to--"

"No. I'll transfer."

Cuddy nodded even though he couldn't see it. "Alright." She opened the door to leave and get everything in order.

"Lisa?" he called again before she left.

She stopped. "Yeah?"

He didn't know how to phrase what he wanted to say next. So he chose the easy way out – he changed his mind. "Nothing."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"You need to give her a break," Wilson said, taking a bite out of House's food. He didn't seem to mind – House hated baked potatoes.

"Why? So that she can indulge in her fantasy that everything's fixable only to discover that I'm screwed?" House asked bitterly.

"You had no problem indulging in her fantasy earlier this morning when you didn't tell her anything," Wilson noted. "Besides, it's still possible that this is reversible."

"Possible, not probable," House pointed out. "Maybe I should have just agreed with her, let her think it's reversible."

"You're generally not an 'ignorance is bliss' type of person."

"So you admit that this most likely isn't reversible."

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm keeping up with your thought process."

"You're playing the devil's advocate," House accused.

"No, _you're_ playing the devil's advocate. Why are you so convinced that it's not--"

"Because if it turns out to _not_ be fixable, then I have nothing to lose because I'm already convinced I'm screwed. If I start thinking that it's reversible and it's not, then I'm screwed. Times infinity."

So House just didn't want to deal with the side effects of false hope, Wilson realized. Expect the worst to eliminate the disappointment.

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" Wilson asked, surprised that he hadn't eaten anything.

"I'm fine, _Mom_."

Wilson stuffed the fork into House's hand and led it to the plate. "If you don't eat anything…I'll make Cuddy feed you and I'll take a video…and I'll send it to the entire hospital."

House grimaced and stabbed at something. "What's this?"

"Broccoli."

"Your trying to poison me?" He moved his fork a little more and stabbed something softer. "What about this?"

"Potato."

"Oh, good," House said and he flicked the forkful of potato straight into Wilson's face.

"Hey!" Wilson muttered wiping bits of potato off his nose. "I thought you couldn't see anything."

"I was guessing. And you have a big head which made my job easier," House answered just as Cuddy walked in.

"The hospital agreed to transfer you over to PPTH in an hour. They'll have an ambulance in--"

"An ambulance? What for?!"

"Because you have pneumonia, House," Cuddy said, aggravation rising. "And I won't let you walk to Princeton Plainsboro."

"I thought we agreed we were going to keep this quiet," House checked.

"We will, we can just take you round the back."

"Well, that makes sense. Ambulances tend to be one of the least conspicuous vehicles out there, right?"

"Can you please be serious?" Cuddy begged.

House shrugged once, again apathetic but also annoyed. "Fine," he said simply, completely aware that he was pushing her buttons. Again.

Cuddy just looked at him for a moment. Then, rolling her eyes and holding her head in her hand, she walked out of the room. Wilson watched the interaction and quickly stood up to follow her out.

"Hey," he said, tapping her on the shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she said, still walking.

"Cuddy." He took her shoulder, holding her back just slightly. She turned to face him though she stared at the floor, refusing to look at him, pursing her lips. She sighed. "He's…angry at me. He doesn't even want to deal with me. He's…pushing my buttons and he knows it."

"He's just frustrated."

"Yeah, well he at least _talks_ humanely to you; he's just hostile to me now. And I don't…know…if he blames me or if he just needs to be alone or--"

"Cuddy, he's just--"

"He's pushing me away. Ever since he told me he was blind he's been doing it."

"Because he cares. He's pushing you away, because he can. He can't get rid of me, _but_ he can hurt you."

"So he wants me gone," she concluded. "That's it."

"He's hurting, he's angry and he's an idiot," Wilson said. "Give him time but don't…don't leave. I know it's aggravating…"

"I won't leave him," she said firmly, as if appalled Wilson could even suggest it. "I couldn't leave him, not now."

Wilson nodded. "Okay."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**PPTH, lab room, two hours later**_

"Put your head on the rest," Cuddy instructed as she started up the angiogram machine. She was alone performing the angiogram since Wilson had to work and they had successfully snuck him into the hospital under a pseudonym. House and Cuddy hadn't spoken to each other since the ride in the ambulance unless it was something medically related to his condition.

"Injecting 3 cc of sodium fleurescin."

Again, she silently hoped that they would find something – something they could fix.

Ten seconds. "Choiroidal flush is fine."

"I'm sorry," House said suddenly, the dye starting to sting.

Cuddy looked at him for a moment. Then remembered she was running a test and quickly checked the screens again. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about," she told him.

"After my infarction," House continued hesitantly. "I made Stacy miserable. And it wasn't just because she had gone against my wishes. I was angry because I didn't think anything was fair. And I didn't give her a break – and she ended up leaving."

She listened silently, speechless.

"I've been an ass for the last couple hours…and I'm an ass when I'm pissed off or frustrated…but it's not your fault. And I don't want to drive you away..."

"I'm not going anywhere," she told him. "I understand…you were angry--"

"But it was uncalled for. I shouldn't make you miserable just because I'm frustrated or angry."

She smiled slightly, more relieved than anything else. "It's fine, Greg."

"No, it's not."

"I'm not going to leave you because you decided to throw a tantrum," she joked. "You're going to have to try a lot harder than that." Cuddy understood what he was saying though – whatever he said or did when he was angry, he didn't mean it. She could live with that.

She held her breath as the last few steps of the angiogram took place and everywhere the dye spread, it showed no leakage – no problem – no hope.

A few more seconds…just until the dye reached the retinal capillary bed. If someone had asked her she would be hoping House's eyes were screwed up she'd call them a liar. Now, she bit her bottom lip, hoping she'd find something.

She exhaled sharply just as the dye spread completely and she closed her eyes.

House noticed the gasp. "What's the verdict?"

Her eyes were still closed and silent tears trailed down her cheeks and both of her hands shot up to cover her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

"Lisa?"

House had told Wilson that he had banished any idea of hope from his mind. But the anticipating tone in his voice was proof that there was some residual concept of hope lying in his head somewhere. Even he couldn't eliminate it entirely. Cuddy heard it and as she tried not to break down, a funny mix of a cough and a sob escaped her throat. And that alone threw her over the edge.

"Greg…" she didn't know what else to say.

Instantly, he knew it was not good news. He leaned back from the head rest, the disappointment sinking in.

"There's nothing," Cuddy cried. "It's not your eyes…that's it…oh, God..."

House said nothing, angry that the one time he had finally bothered with this stupid concept of hope, it had failed and left him groveling on his knees for something stable to hold on to.

**Soooo…….okay, I'm not even going to try and redeem myself. I was honestly considering writing this chapter and the next one and then posting them both together at the same time but decided against it since I figured one chapter was better that no chapter, right? (And when I finally post the nxt chapter…which I still haven't written…you'll understand what I mean).**

**I can feel a billion emotions radiating from my computer as I type this note. Some of you…ok a lot of you must hate me right now. Am I evil? Yeah you could say that. But I promise, I will make you happy (how I do it is still up for debate). Besides, have I ever given you reason not to trust me???**

**O.o **

**Don't answer that. **

**oh, and excuse any typos. I checked over it but it's almost one in the morning here.**

**Song Credits: Funny the Way It Is by Dave Matthews Band (FYI, Dave Matthews guest starred in the House episode half wit so I suggest you check out the band if you don't know them!)**

**review please! thank you! ;)**


	33. Chapter 33: Please Don't Leave Me

**Things I should be doing: reading Crime and Punishment for school, cleaning my room, doing my laundry. Instead, what am I doing? Writing for FF. Gotta love me. **

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 33: Please Don't Leave Me

"Enlarged spleen and a necrotic liver are classic AIP. Porphyra," Cameron suggested.

"PBGs were negative," Chase said as he dialed House's number for the twenty third time.

"PBG tests are only conclusive if done during the attack," Foreman argued. "It could still be vascular. Chase, stop it, he's not going to pick up the phone."

"What I'm doing is _way_ more productive," Chase said as the phone rang. "And vaculitis is off the table since the steroids didn't work."

"It doesn't have to be vasculitis – just something that's cutting off the blood supply to the liver and spleen," Foreman maintained. "We should do a visceral angiogram just to make sure."

"_And_ we should come up with something else before we get the results and find out its negative," Cameron said.

"Visceral angiogram is the best thing we have. Chase, why are you still dialing?"

"He's going to pick up eventually to yell at me. Then I can clue him in," Chase said as he pressed the redial button just as he heard House's voicemail.

"Are you calling his cell or home?" Cameron asked.

"I'm interchanging."

"Guys!" Foreman said angrily. "He's not going to pick up, we might as well try and figure this out ourselves."

"Wilson knows where he is," Chase pointed out. "He just won't tell us."

"We could drag it out of him," Cameron suggested.

"Cameron!"

"What?!" she yelled back angrily. "I know the thrill of figuring out a case without House is impossible to pass up but at the rate we're going we're going to have to perform an autopsy to get to the bottom of this."

"I say we go after Wilson," Chase said. "Screw with his schedule and pull a few pranks and we could get him to talk easy."

"Cuddy might know where he is," Cameron said.

"Cuddy's harder to blackmail."

"We have a patient," Foreman reminded everyone. "We don't have time to play hide and seek."

"Fine," Chase said, dropping the phone. "We'll do the visceral angiogram and Cameron can start blackmailing. No one's going to suspect her. She's too nice."

Foreman rolled his eyes and left the room, Chase at his heels and Cameron made a face and followed them out, making her way to Wilson's office. She knocked first, hoping he wasn't with a patient and when he didn't answer she opened the door to find the room empty, papers strewn across his desk as if he had left while in the middle of something and in a hurry. She frowned. It had to be something urgent, maybe a patient. She made her way toward the oncology ward.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy and Wilson had been flocking in and out of the room for the past couple hours, no one really saying anything and House was fine with that. He wanted to brood, think about everything that was going to change, curse life in general.

No one wanted a sick doctor. That was his biggest problem with the cane – it was his classic reason for not wearing the lab coat. Fortunately his rude and sarcastic nature was enough to shift his patients' attention from his leg to his character, and that House could deal with. But how the hell was he supposed to practice medicine now? He couldn't get around by himself, couldn't see patients (even though he usually put that off). He'd be too out of it to diagnose. He'd have to quit. And there was no 'eventually-fix-the-problem therapy' for blindness – just a 'deal with it' mentality. Then what? Go home and try to move around without crashing into something, burning something down or hurting himself? He was going to be a useless lump for months, if not years. And when he finally did figure out how to deal with it, then what? What was the point in practicing medicine then when the primary sense for observation was his sight? And that was the point of his job – observations.

And who was he without his observations, anyway? It was why he was a good doctor. He noticed what everyone else ignored. What now? He wasn't one of the best doctors around anymore, he wasn't even average – he was damaged even more than he was already. Useless. And his gift of observation wasn't just for medicine. It _defined_ him. He pissed people off because he was so good at it, he figured things out quickly, could easily get into people's heads. It was practically a way of life, and now…now he was in his own piece of the world. A piece that no one could penetrate and one that he himself couldn't leave. He didn't know what time it was, if it was raining outside or if there was someone else in the room with him. How could he even bother to read someone else's expression to see what they were hiding, observe their movement and figure out if they were lying? It was the ultimate form of isolation for him.

And then there was Lisa.

She didn't deserve this. Cuddy didn't sign up to play babysitter. She was dean of medicine, she couldn't play babysitter. He had said earlier that he hadn't wanted to push her away, but he was now honestly considering it. He knew Cuddy, and she wasn't going to leave him even if it would be in her best interest to do so. The guilt wouldn't let her. And even if she eventually did decide to leave, she'd still have that guilt gnawing at her. If he pushed her away, she'd have no reason to feel guilty, nothing holding her back. She'd be able to live her own life…

But he didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to let go.

He was being selfish. She didn't need this. She didn't deserve this – she deserve more, better.

The worst part was that it wasn't only his life that was ruined. He was bringing down Cuddy as well. And he didn't think he could live with that.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Do you know where Doctor Wilson is?" Cameron asked one of the nurses in the oncology ward.

"I'm not sure _exactly_ where he went," the nurse said shrugging her shoulders. "But he told me he'd send House after me if I tattled. Why, is House looking for him?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, it's actually about a patient. It's actually kind of urgent," Cameron pressed, looking for a weak spot. It wasn't a lie, technically. She needed Wilson to find House to diagnose a patient – it was all true.

The nurse hesitated and Cameron didn't blame her. Who in their right mind would want House to torture them all day? "I'll get Wilson to give you a break but I really need to find him," Cameron reassured her.

The nurse rolled her eyes, giving in. "He's up on the sixth floor. I have no idea why, though. And he seemed in a hurry."

Cameron nodded quickly dashing to the nearest elevator.

"You didn't hear it from me!" the nurse yelled after her.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Wilson was back down in the oncology ward, knowing that House's team was about to start looking for him. After all, they had called House's phone a ridiculous number of times. Wilson should know, he had it. House didn't need to deal with his team, his patient – or anything for that matter, though he knew the time would come when they would have to tell the team that House was leaving. For good.

He couldn't figure out how his best friend was going to come out of this in one piece. He didn't know what to expect next, what would happen, how everyone would cope. Wilson walked in a daze, everything around him fading into the background. Nothing mattered, nothing was important anymore.

He didn't even realize one of the nurses start to walk beside him and chatter away about…about, something. Wilson didn't really start paying attention until about halfway through her speech.

"What?" he asked all of a sudden, still not there entirely.

The nurse frowned a little eyeing him. "Are you listening to me?" she asked accusingly, smiling a little to herself. He was always so busy.

"Uh…no, not really actually," he admitted.

"You need to take a break," she said. "Cameron came over and was looking for you. I _know_ you told me to shut up but she seemed a little flustered and said she needed you for a patient." She paused, reading his expression. She expected a roll of the eyes, a slight frown but not anger. Not really. And definitely not the horror masked all over his face. "Did you not find her?" she asked, unsure what the look on his face meant.

"Did you tell her where I was?" Wilson asked.

"I told her you were on the sixth floor."

_Damn it! _And Cameron of all people. If she ended up figuring out the truth about House she was going to tell someone. There was no keeping her quiet, and even if she lied, she couldn't do it very well. Why couldn't it have at least been Foreman? He at least knew how to lie.

Wilson turned and sprinted down the hallway just as his pager went off. He was so dead…

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cameron had skimmed the entire sixth floor but Wilson was nowhere in sight, so she had gone back to the nurses' station on that floor and checked the log entries, looking for Wilson's name as an attending physician.

"Wilson, Wilson, Wilson…" she hummed skimming the entries, but she couldn't find his name anywhere. She was about to just give up and try House's cell phone again when she laid eyes on another name. _Dr. Lisa Cuddy_.

She frowned. The only time Cuddy signed herself as the attending physician was when the patient was someone she knew. She had a hospital full of doctors to take care of everyone else. So who could be of ultimate interest to Cuddy for her to take up a patient and leave him or her on the sixth floor? So far away from her own office? A donor, maybe?

Out of sheer curiosity, she checked the name of the patient. _David Roberts_. She rolled her eyes and closed the log, already growing tired of this hide and seek game. She turned to leave and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cuddy holding a cup of coffee walking down one of the branching hallways. Sensing victory, Cameron made her way towards the hallway she had just entered. But before she could call after her, she heard the unmistakable beeping of heart rate monitors, causing Cameron to walk a little faster though it definitely wasn't her patient.

She was only a few meters behind Cuddy but now she was running as well. Just outside the patient room that was causing the commotion, she dropped her coffee cup, brown liquid splattering across the floor. She ran into the room, yelling, "I need some help in here!"

Cameron sprinted now despite her heels and once she was outside the room she stopped, holding her breath. Everything seemed to stop. It was her boss - shaking uncontrollably and Cuddy attempting to stabilize him.

The never ending beeping of the monitors brought her out of her reverie and she quickly grabbed a syringe from the drawer by House's bed, doctor mode taking over.

"What are you doing here?" Cuddy asked, surprised as soon as Cameron administered the dose.

Cameron said nothing. She just stared at Cuddy and then back at House who was still seizing.

At that exact moment, Wilson appeared outside the room, almost slipping on the spilled coffee. At first, he was also shocked by House's seizure but he slammed his hands against his face realizing that Cameron was also in the room.

_Damn._

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"What the hell is going on?" Cameron asked as soon as House was stable. All three of them were out in the hallway, arguing.

"Nothing…" Wilson moaned, not ready to deal with her questions.

"That!" Cameron yelled, pointing at House's room. "Is _not_ nothing!"

"Cameron, not now," Wilson begged, looking at Cuddy who seemed to be on her own frequency. Cameron looked at Cuddy, hoping she'd reveal what was really going on.

"Maybe it's reversible," Cuddy said looking at Wilson, purposely ignoring Cameron. "Maybe it's linked – the seizure and the blindness."

"What blindness?"

"Cuddy--" Wilson started hesitantly.

"Maybe we can fix this!"

"Or maybe he's just getting worse."

"We should at least brainstorm…think of something it could be, if there's a chance we can fix this I'm not going to just leave it alone."

"How long has he been here?" Cameron interrupted.

Again, Wilson ignored her. "Maybe if he caught something last night…in the rain. Maybe even the pneumonia is a symptom."

"But that can be explained just because it was cold. And it's getting better now."

"Stop!" Cameron yelled, finally getting their attention. "What is going on? He…he has pneumonia and…and…wh-what, he's blind too? What's going on?"

Cuddy closed her eyes, leaning on the wall behind her. There was no point trying to keep her in the dark. She had to know now, and along with that would be a lengthy explanation that would be stealing vital time needed to come up with a diagnosis for House. They'd have to start with the beginning – House's meeting with Ethan, the prospect of Ethan's accomplice, Ryan Heath, the dinner last night, the attack. The blindness. And now the seizures. They had to tell her everything.

Wilson sighed, not even sure where to begin.

_**Half an hour later…**_

Cameron had trouble digesting all of the information after one sitting. Was she supposed to willingly accept the fact that the donor she had talked to many times before was trying to kill House and that he had been blind for almost twenty four hours? That it most likely wasn't reversible? The news left her feeling broken and lost.

Cuddy on the other hand was proud of Wilson's explanation, especially how he had conveniently not mentioned her poisoning or the fact that she was dating House.

"Does this have anything to do with Cuddy's poisoning?" Cameron asked.

Cuddy sighed. So much for that, she had completely forgotten they had helped House diagnose her. But then again, how would she remember? She had been unconscious the entire time.

Wilson nodded, "We think…Ryan was trying to poison House, maybe he tipped off a cook or something. But Cuddy ended up getting sick accidentally."

Cameron nodded, not entirely understanding how that made sense but not about to ask for further explanation.

Cuddy hadn't said anything but now that they were finished informing Cameron, she needed to get one thing straight. "I don't want you telling anyone," she instructed.

"Alright," she agreed.

"And that includes Foreman and Chase…and I understand that you're dating Chase."

Cameron frowned. "How can I not tell them? They deserve to know, don't they?"

"The only reason you know at all is because we were forced to transfer House here. We wanted to perform a fleurescin angiogram but Princeton General was being difficult. House didn't even want to transfer at first, because he didn't want you knowing. You're not supposed to know. Period."

Cameron bit her lip but nodded slowly, not completely sure if she'd keep her promise.

Cuddy knew she was going to squeal, but she'd deal with that later. Now, they needed to figure out what the problem was. "He had pneumonia but it's getting better. A few more days of hospitalization should take care of it but now we have seizures…that _might_ be linked to the blindness."

"He was hit on the back of head," Cameron pointed out. "It could just be traumatic brain injury."

"Yeah, well, if it's _just_ a traumatic brain injury we can't do anything about it. He gets worse by himself, he gets better by himself or he dies, either way there's nothing we can do about it." _And quite frankly, I don't want to deal with two out three of those possibilities_, Cuddy thought to herself. "But … if the seizures and the blindness are related and it's _not_ because he was hit in the head, then we might be able to fix it."

"Did he say when he went blind?" Cameron asked. "Did he realize it today or did he go blind as soon as he was hit?"

Cuddy tried to remember their conversation. "He said he realized it afterwards but the CT showed excess fluid in his occipital lobe so he most likely lost vision as soon as he was struck." This wasn't turning out well._ If he went blind right after being hit then blindness might not be an issue._ "Then again…" she thought aloud. "We did the drain the fluid…vision should've returned even if it was only partial…Seizures and blindness might still be connected…"

Cameron knew it was a long shot, but right now that's what they all wanted. They might as well go with it. "He was…in the rain, he was cold and he wasn't moving. Maybe a parasite got into his system."

"Or even bacteria," Wilson pointed out. "He was left for an hour and a half behind a giant dumpster. Parasitic or bacterial. That's all we've got."

"And fungus," Cameron added. "Zygomycosis – fungus found in soil and decaying plant matter. Transmission through inhalation which would have worked perfectly."

"The rain makes it less likely, though," Wilson said. "Inhalation would have been harder for the spores. And it's usually only partial blindness."

"Rhinocerebral mucormycosis," Cameron suggested.

"It's opportunistic and he's not immunocompromised."

Wilson perked up for a moment. "Acanthamoeba infection. It fits perfectly. Free living amoeba, the ones that are found everywhere, soil, air, water…"

"Everyone gets them but no one gets sick," Cameron pointed out.

Cuddy nodded, but instead of becoming excited, her face fell. "But _he_ would. He caught the pneumonia, his system was weak, the amoeba can do as much harm as they want…and now he has the seizures."

The three of them said nothing, understanding what this meant. If the amoeba reached his brain, there was nothing they could do. Survival rate was only two percent.

_No_, Cuddy thought as she closed her eyes, shaking her head. _No!_ _No, this can't be it!_ _We're missing something, another diagnosis…no, this can't be it…_

_Think! You can't just give up. If it was the infection, then we should have seen seizures hours ago, when we noticed the blindness. Instead there's a twenty four hour gap and no other symptoms. _

"Cuddy…"

_It could be something else. The seizures could be something else._

"Do a CT," she said, refusing to look at anyone. "CT of his brain, check for any pressure."

"Cuddy--"

"And treat him for the infection," Cuddy said anyway.

Wilson nodded to Cameron to get everything set up. A few moments after she left Cuddy left the hallway and sat beside an unconscious Gregory House, almost as if in a trance. And for the first time, Wilson had no words of comfort to share. Everything pointed either to permanent blindness or death. Unless there was some miraculous bleed in his brain…things just weren't looking up.

"I love him, Wilson," Cuddy said, still staring at House the tears flowing freely. "I fell in love with him years ago, I just didn't know it. And now…now that we're together, now that I can say he's mine…I have to let go."

_**Twenty minutes later…**_

House was taken to the CT room. Apparently, Cameron had learned well from House how to mess with the schedule and get her way. She had also learned when to keep quiet and hadn't told Foreman and Chase about House's condition. A few nurses were waiting just outside in case he would need to be sent to the OR. And Cuddy hoped so desperately. At least they could fix a bleed.

Cuddy, Cameron and Wilson were all silent as the CT formed the image of House's brain.

_Come on, come on, come on…_ Cuddy prayed.

"My God," Cameron said suddenly as the full image was shown on the monitors. Cuddy turned to inspect the images and shrieked. Cameron smiled, on the brink of laughter. "There it is. There's the leak."

"Get him to the OR," Wilson said, a smile crossing his lips as well. Cameron quickly ran out of the observation room and immediately, House was whisked away. Just like that.

Just like that. Cuddy covered her mouth as she tried to stay stable on her own two feet, joy filling her entire being. Wilson quickly stood next to her, just as her legs threatened to give way and hugged her, knowing she needed it.

"Wilson…oh my God…"

"He's going to be fine," Wilson said. "Now we know for sure."

Cuddy sobbed into arm. The emotions she had gone through over the entire day…her heart had been torn into pieces, then stitched together only to be torn again. She'd been everything from relieved and overjoyed to heartbroken, angry and concerned. Now it was over – this entire roller coaster was over. There was nothing more that she wanted.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Wilson was working, the team had figured out what was wrong with their patient and Cameron had come up with some lame excuse for why she had mysteriously disappeared.

Cuddy had tried to get some work done, knowing that he would be fine, but couldn't focus being so far away from him. So instead, she had spent the last hour or so in House's room and done what she could there. Now, she was on the verge of sleep. She hadn't but a few hours of sleep ever since this entire fiasco began and now, she was beginning to realize just how tired she was.

House woke up just as Cuddy closed her eyes. She didn't hear the sheets shuffle at first – she was too out of it.

He stirred and exhaled loudly before opening his eyes. Immediately, he shut his eyes again.

Bright. It was the first word that popped into his head when he opened his eyes and it took him about two tenths of a millisecond to figure out what this meant.

_Bright? _

The second time, he slowly cracked his eyelids open. Yet, everything he saw flooded his brain like a wave. Immediately, he sat up. The bed he was in, he could see the bed – the see through windows, the monitors…and Cuddy curled up in the chair next to him, a handful of papers in her lap.

He could see her. He leaned on the hand rail of his bed to sit up a little more but wasn't aware that it was loose. It gave way and slammed down, startling not only him but Cuddy as well. Her eyes shot open and she jerked, the papers flying across the floor and she tried to figure out what just happened.

"Lisa?" House said, his eyes set on her. Cuddy noticed the focus in his beautiful, blue eyes. He was back. "I can see you," he said simply, still unable to believe it. What was going on? Was he dreaming? Hallucinating?

Cuddy stood up and wrapped her arms around him and immediately, he knew that this was real. She held on to him desperately, as if worried he was going to melt in her arms. Her hand rested on his cheek and her dark brown hair on the side of his face.

"I love you," Cuddy whispered into his ear. "Don't leave me. Not again…I love you too much."

House, for the first time, was lost for words. He held on to her, like she was a life line - the only thing connecting her to this world.

**LOL, I love how everyone was like "You can't make House blind permanently!" Well, of course I can't! :P The man **_**is**_** a cripple, blind plus cripple is pushing it, isn't it?**

**So, now that House is fine, Cuddy's predominant emotion of worry is gone and she's holding on to second best – ultimate hatred toward Ryan!!! MUHAHAHA!!! (BTW…we're almost done with him, but NOT with this story).**

**And one more thing… Are my chapters too long? I know everyone likes longer chapters but I feel as if they're REALLY long and now I'm worried :( what do you guys think?**

**And, of course, the progression of Huddy! :)**

**Song Credit: Please Don't Leave Me by P!nk**

**Review please! Thank you!**


	34. Chapter 34: Family Portrait Pt 1

**I'm baaa-aaa-ck!! I know. Longest. Wait. EVAR. I was really busy: I had a scholarship interview for college. And I got it! I got the full scholarship, guys! I'm going to college! :) **

**Alright, now on to some Huddy! And I'll try and update more to make up for the lost time, kay? But I'll still be busy – senior stuff, parties, prom, more parties, graduation, parties…yeah, I'll be **_**real**_** busy ;) **

Chapter 34: Family Portrait

Lisa was lying down next to House and for the first time in days, she was at peace. Almost. For the last hour, they had done nothing but talk, as if he had just been on vacation; catching up on lost time. The thing was, Ryan was on both of their minds, but neither of them had brought him up. They didn't want to talk about him. Not yet.

They were lucky no one was looking for them. If anyone had seen them like this, her next to House…well, Chase would have a new betting pool up and running within seconds.

Her head rested on his chest and she realized just how bad the pneumonia was, or at least, had been. Before, her primary worry had been the blindness, the bleed in his brain, the seizures. Now that all of that was taken care of, her concern shifted towards the terrible crackling sound that still remained in his chest. It was getting better, and he was definitely improving, and in all honesty if he had simply sneezed her worry would have spiked. But she didn't want to take any chances.

"Are you okay?" she asked, not entirely fond of the sound in his chest.

"I'm fine."

Cuddy frowned a little and got out of the bed, grabbing the stethoscope from her lab coat pocket.

"But now I'm lonely…" House pouted, causing Cuddy to chuckle slightly.

"Sit up," she demanded, still smiling, placing the buds of the stethoscope in her ear. House rolled his eyes but complied.

"You worry too much," House told her as she listened.

Cuddy didn't even know if she should slap him or laugh. In the last two days he had been almost fatally injured, suffered through multiple bleeds in his brain, caught pneumonia and experienced temporary blindness.

Oh, yeah. She worried _way_ too much. Cuddy just rolled her eyes.

"You're chest is getting better," Cuddy finally told him.

"See? You _do_ worry too much," House announced triumphantly.

She scoffed. "Right, and this is coming from the man who almost died of hypothermia a couple nights ago, went blind, _and_ experienced seizures?"

"What seizures?" House asked, wrinkling his nose. That was definitely news.

"Twice," Cuddy said as she sat back down on the bed next to him, holding up two fingers. She looked at him and shook her head slightly. _This man's going to kill me one of these days_, she thought to herself.

"What _was_ the final diagnosis?" he asked, not sure if he really wanted to know.

"Acanthamoeba infection. The pneumonia made you an easy target and explained--"

"The blindness _and _the seizures," House interrupted. "Except if it explained the seizures, then I'd be royally screwed because the infection would've hit my brain…"

"You're not letting me finish!" Cuddy pouted, nudging him. "The infection explained the blindness. We ran a CT and found a bleed that explained the seizures."

"And that's it," House checked, hardly believing it. It was a giant coincidence. He had to be the luckiest bastard on the planet right now.

"That's it," she confirmed, smiling.

"You figured this out? That's impressive…" he teased.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You figured this out _all_ by yourself?" he pressed, knowing he was getting on her nerves. He smirked a little, aware that he was.

"Contrary to popular belief, I _am_ a doctor."

"Who assigns parking spaces."

She rolled her eyes. "Wilson and I figured it out," she finally told him. She decided to say nothing about Cameron just yet. She was sure House would want to give Cameron his, "You blab and I'll tell everyone that you sleep with Chase in janitor closets" speech, but he didn't need to know about that now, or stress about it, or threaten to make someone else's life miserable. Besides, he'd be pissed if he found out that Cameron was now up to date with every crazy thing that had happened in his life for the last couple months.

"Oh, well, _that_ explains it," House said, rolling his eyes with finality. Cuddy smacked his shoulder.

"What time is it?" House asked, turning to see if there was a clock somewhere.

"Nine thirty."

"What are you still doing here? Go home and sleep."

"I'm fine," she said, shrugging.

"You look like you haven't slept in three days."

"That's because I _haven't_ slept in three days."

"Which means it's a pretty good idea to start catching up now," he said.

Cuddy exhaled loudly. "I'll stay here, House. I'm fine." She looked at House who looked anything but convinced. She sighed again. "I don't want to go home, I want to stay here."

"Are you scared of the dark?" House asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"No…but I'm scared of Ryan."

"You don't need to be scared of him. He's not going to hurt you," House told her quietly.

"Maybe, maybe not. But he will hurt _you_."

"I'm in a hospital, what's he going to do?"

"That's always your reasoning!" Cuddy said angrily. "We were in a hospital during a fundraiser, and my food got spiked, you were in a restaurant full of people and you almost died…are you not seeing the pattern, here?"

"No need to snap," House joked.

"It's not funny!"

House quickly cut the act. At this rate, someone was going to get hurt – namely him. "Alright, you're right. You can stay here and get as little sleep as possible."

Content, Cuddy lay back down on the bed, making herself comfortable next to him. "What do you think he wants?"

"God? I guess he'd appreciate it if I acknowledged his existence," House deadpanned.

"I meant Ryan," she said, laughing a little. "What does he even want? Why does he hate you so much?"

House hated never having an answer, it was his nature to want to _know_. And the fact that he had no answer to Cuddy's question was the most frustrating thing since blocked websites on hospital computers. Why did Ryan hate him so much anyway? He knew why Ethan hated him – the drama with his brother and how House had been an ass to him, blah, blah, blah, so what else was new? But Ryan either had a reason he planned on revealing just before he finally just killed House or he was a complete and total psychopath that had decided House would be his target for the next couple weeks. Either way, House didn't like it and House didn't know which one it was.

"I don't know," House finally said truthfully, wishing he did know. "I don't know."

"What I _do_ know," Cuddy started angrily, "Is that if he even thinks about stepping foot in my hospital ever again I'm going to tear him apart--"

"No, you won't…" House said slowly.

"Yes, I will! I'm going to kill that man and rip him into pieces…and, and, then I'm going to--" words escaped her lips angrily and in a frenzy as she tried to visualize everything she really wanted to do to that son of a bitch.

"Whatever happened to 'I'm scared of Ryan'?"

"I changed my mind."

House chuckled and closed his eyes, exhaustion finally settling in. He didn't have any idea he was this tired.

"Greg?" Cuddy asked, worriedly.

"Hmm?" he hummed, opening his eyes slightly. "I'm tired…"

"Okay," she told him, holding his hand. He would have made fun of her worrying so much, but it didn't take long for unconsciousness to sweep over his entire being. "Goodnight, Greg," she whispered. But he was already out.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

The next morning, Cuddy was downstairs, catching up on all the work she had ignored for the last few days. It was days like this she asked herself why she had honestly decided on becoming dean of medicine. You go missing for a few days, and everything goes haywire – the workload ahead was daunting but the knowledge that the worry that had plagued her for days was gone kept her going.

Well, not all the worry was gone. Ryan was still out there. She needed to call Weston quickly. She would've done it last night but it was already late. She had finally left House's side last night around one in the morning but had made sure a security guard stayed outside his room for the rest of his night. She wouldn't hear the end of it from House when he found out, she knew, but she was willing to deal with that in due time.

She was shocked out of her reverie when her phone started ringing.

"Dr. Cuddy," she answered, signing off on a procedure.

"SAVE ME!" House yelled on the other line.

Cuddy immediately burst out into laughter. It wasn't just the outburst itself that she found amusing, but how _serious_ he sounded. Whatever he was about to whine about, he wasn't happy about it.

"What?" she asked, still laughing.

"Yeah, you _would_ find this funny."

"Well, tell me what it is!"

"Your stupid nurse woke me up when I was sleeping _just_ because they wanted me to eat breakfast!"

"Oh, how evil," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes.

"And all that stupid woman brought was a bagel anyway…and I _hate_ bagels! And when I started terrorizing her, she just left! So now I'm bored!"

Her doors opened and she glanced up to take a look at who was entering – House's team had just entered holding a file. Cuddy pointed at the file in Foreman's hand with her pen. "All of you walking in here at the same time cannot be good news," she told them.

"Are you even listening to me?" House whined.

"Obviously not," she told House, holding out her hand to take the file.

"Who could possibly be more important than me?!"

Cuddy ignored him and focused her attention on Foreman who was explaining their latest case. "Healthy man's lungs fail and no one has any idea why. No hyperinflation on the x ray, can't be an allergy because he's got no hives, probably not a pulmonary embolism--"

"Foreman?" House asked, annoyed. "You'd rather listen to him?"

"Hey, listen, I'm going to call you back."

"No, I want to listen to the case!" House whined. "I'm sick…I'm supposed to get whatever I want!"

"Bye," Cuddy told him, ignoring his request.

"Was that House?" Cameron asked as soon as she had hung up. Chase and Foreman stared back at Cuddy, curious.

"Yes," Cuddy said after a slight pause, deciding to keep her lying to a minimum. _Cameron…you'd better not do anything stupid…_

"Where is he?" Foreman asked, annoyed. "He's been disappearing on and off for the last couple days."

"He's taking a personal day," Cuddy answered with a straight and nonchalant face. "As for your _patient_."

"The patient needs House."

"House is unavailable. This one's _all_ on you guys," she gave them an almost mocking smile as they turned to leave her office. "Cameron, can I speak to you for a minute?" she called out before they had all left.

Chase and Foreman glanced at each other but left the room, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

"I didn't tell them anything," Cameron said as soon as the doors were shut, knowing that was what Cuddy wanted to really talk about.

"And I appreciate that," Cuddy answered honestly. "I'd also appreciate it if you would continue doing just that."

"Alright…" Cameron stalled for a second before asking her next question. "How's House? Is he…better?"

"He's fine. He'll be discharged either tonight or tomorrow morning."

Cameron nodded once as she turned to leave. "Okay."

"And thank you," Cuddy added.

Again, Cameron simply nodded, smiling slightly as she left the room. Cuddy watched her leaving, surprisingly certain she wasn't going to say anything.

"What was that all about?" Chase asked as soon as Cameron stepped out.

"Nothing you'd be interested in," Cameron answered.

"I'm pretty sure we'd be interested," Foreman argued.

"It doesn't involve you."

"And _that's_ why we're interested."

"Maybe we should focus on our dying patient--"

"After we figure out what you're hiding."

Cameron stopped at the elevators and turned around to face them. "I don't have to tell you guys anything. Now, what I _can_ do, is dangle my secret under your nose just out of reach and force you to be personal servants for as long as I can keep it up."

Chase rolled his eyes, and pressed the elevator button. "This isn't worth it."

"I'm glad you see the light," Cameron said, smiling smugly.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

Cuddy was holding a blue patient file as she made her way towards House's room. It was past noon and she still hadn't seen him. There was so much to catch up on and everyone had been looking for her all day so it had been impossible for her to sneak out of the office without being spotted or followed. She had talked with him throughout the morning by phone so she didn't feel too isolated. Wilson hadn't stopped by for the same reason, but mostly because Chase and Foreman had been spying on him, hoping to figure out where House was. And House had taught them well – too well, in Wilson's opinion.

Cuddy chuckled to herself slightly, remembering Wilson whining about how Chase and Foreman were like mini House's roaming the hallways.

"I got you a gift," The doors slid open for her as she walked into House's room, blue file in hand.

"A patient? That's my gift?" House asked, wrinkling his nose. "After you abandon me for hours on end?"

Cuddy chuckled and she sat down next to him and handed him the file. "I didn't say it was _your_ gift. It's more of a gift to the nurses who have to come in here. I figured if I managed to keep you busy you wouldn't try as hard to drive them to suicide."

"That's the Lisa I know – so thoughtful." He perused through the file for a moment. "I take it it's not a food allergy or asthma?"

"How did you know?" Cuddy asked.

"That would be boring," he said simply raising an eyebrow. He closed the file definitively. "Tell dumb, dumber and dumbest to test for laryngospasm."

"That's a great idea," Cuddy said sarcastically. Then she added, "How do you plan on testing for laryngospasm without killing him?"

"You get the thief by catching him in the act. We give the patient a methacholine challenge and wait until he stops breathing. Induce another attack."

"Did you not hear the last part of my sentence or are you purposely ignoring me?"

"Patient's in a hospital," House rationalized. "He'll start breathing _eventually_."

Cuddy snatched the file from his hand, frowning slightly. Why couldn't he come up with safer diagnoses? Unfortunately, larygnospasm was all they had to work with. "I'll tell the three musketeers."

House nodded and quickly asked, "Have you called Weston?" He didn't want to really talk about Weston or Ryan or any of that in particular, but he decided to get it over with now. Besides, if the incident a few days ago wasn't proof that Ryan wanted to stick House's head on a pike, then he didn't know what was.

"Wilson called her last night when I was up here," Cuddy told him. "They've got the information they need and every police officer in Princeton knows to look out for him. They have proof, witnesses – apparently someone at the restaurant saw him leave the restroom and later on saw him leave the back of the restaurant. As soon as he's arrested we're officially finished with Ryan Heath."

"You might be, but _I'm_ not," House argued.

"What does that mean?"

"I want to know why he hates me. What did I ever do to him? I wasn't _that_ mean to him. I don't even _know_ him."

"Can't you just be happy he's going to be sent to jail?"

"Nope," House answered simply.

Cuddy sighed. "Of course you can't," she muttered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. _Why do I ask_? "I'm just glad this is over. That doesn't mean if Ryan comes within three meters of me I'm not going to strangle him to death, but I'm just happy this is finally over."

House sighed, reading her expression. Relief; that's what he saw. Just the knowledge that the fear and worry could finally end was enough for her. They could finally live their lives without looking behind their shoulder and taking extra precautions. Without thinking, he lightly touched her chin and kissed her softly on the lips. She kissed back, her mouth opening, eagerly accepting his tongue. She realized how much she missed this – it had only been two days, but she missed this so much. Being part of him.

"I missed you," she told him once they had parted, knowing he would understand.

"You have no idea," House told her, about to capture her lips once more. But at that moment, they heard quick footsteps approaching and the doors started to slide open. They quickly parted, unsure of who their latest guest was.

"Your team is evil," Wilson said as soon as the doors had opened, pointing his finger accusingly at House.

_Damn you, Wilson_, House thought to himself though Wilson was completely unaware of the make out session he had just interrupted. "Good!" House said proudly. "I taught them well."

"Is this how you two greet each other?" Cuddy asked, amazed.

"What, you want me to give him a hug? God, Lisa…do I _look_ like I have a vagina?"

"Okay, something like that might work on Wilson, but you ever deny me my hug, you're going to wish you had a vagina."

At that Wilson burst into laughter. Cuddy folded her arms against her chest triumphantly.

"It's not that funny," House said, rolling his eyes.

"That's because you're on the receiving end," Wilson started as soon as he had recovered. "Hey, has Cameron stopped by yet? I wouldn't be surprised."

Cuddy's eyes widened and she shook her head slightly at him, frowning, but it was already too late. House's eyes narrowed. "Why the hell would Cameron come by?"

"You didn't…" Wilson started, hesitantly, not sure how he could redeem himself.

"Wilson!" Cuddy gasped, angrily.

"Sorry…"

"What does Cameron know?" House asked, all humor gone.

Cuddy grimaced and shot Wilson her personal 'I will kill you' glare. Then to House she explained what happened. "When you were seizing, Cameron walked in…"

"And…" House prompted, knowing there was more…a _lot_ more. And he was right.

"And we had to tell her everything. So she knows about Ryan, and my poisoning, and what happened a few nights ago…the blindness…but she doesn't know about us."

"And…you figured Cameron, of all people, would keep this information to herself," House deduced sarcastically.

"Actually she hasn't said anything," Wilson said.

"Yet," House amended. "There are two things Cameron can't do: keep a secret and lie."

"She can lie."

"Not _well_."

"You need to give her some credit," Cuddy told him. "She hasn't said anything to Chase or Foreman and neither of them suspect you're even here. Foreman thinks you've been playing hooky for the last couple days."

"That's just like Foreman – expecting the worst from me," House said, deciding to drop the subject of Cameron and her newly discovered knowledge. She wasn't good with information that needed to kept quiet and he knew it wouldn't be long before her desperate need to discuss feelings overwhelmed her and she blabbered. House decided he'd just take care of that when the time came and the next time he saw her, he'd make it abundantly clear that her sanity was on the line if she said too much.

At that moment, Cuddy's pager went off and she quickly dug into her lab coat pocket looking for it.

"I never knew you got pages," House said.

"What made you think that?" Cuddy asked, playing along.

"Well, what emergency could anyone call you for? _Dr. Cuddy, a patient stole my parking space_."

Lisa rolled her eyes and checked her pager. Immediately, her face fell and her heart rate skipped to an almost unprecedented rate.

"What, was someone smoking in the clinic and set off the fire alarm?" House asked playfully.

Cuddy looked up and immediately, both House and Wilson knew it wasn't good news. "Ryan's here," she said simply.

**I originally wrote one giant chapter, but I'm splitting it up. Please leave a review anyway ;) thx ma peeps**

**Song Credits: Family Portrait by P!nk**


	35. Chapter 35: Family Portrait Pt 2

Chapter 35: Family Portrait Pt 2

_Ryan's here._

Two completely contradicting emotions took hold of Cuddy at that moment: sheer terror and dangerous anger. Of course she was terrified, Ryan who had tried multiple times to kill House was in her own hospital. But at the same time, she was angry. Insulted. How dare he come here? How could he show up at her hospital and expect her to talk civilly to him? Was this some sort of joke?

"What do you mean Ryan's here? I called Weston last night…" Wilson started.

"I don't know," Cuddy quickly answered. "He wants to…to talk to me about his donation. Why the _hell_ would I want to talk about his donation? Is he insane? I swear to God…"

"He probably doesn't know that you know about his involvement in his latest prank," House said, thinking quickly. He didn't want Cuddy or Wilson to meet him. What he really wanted to do was grab a chainsaw and cut his head off but he'd probably get in trouble. Plus, he didn't have a chainsaw.

"I should go and meet him," Cuddy said, chewing her bottom lip. "Or he'll get suspicious."

"No," House said forcefully. "No, you're not." He looked at Wilson. "Call Weston again, tell her Ryan's here and to get her ass down here."

"I think I should still talk to him, at least to stall," Cuddy said. "Or he'll just leave and we'll lose our chance."

"No, you're not!" House said angrily. He didn't mean for it to come out so forcefully, but he was scared, angry, and quite frankly, pissed off that she was so willing to put herself at risk. "I don't want you to be near him at all."

"I should stall," Wilson suggested.

"No!" Cuddy and House yelled at him.

"It makes sense," Wilson argued. "I'm on the committee so I can make up some story of why we haven't met yet, he doesn't really care about me – he has no reason to hurt me."

"Yet," House added.

"Someone needs to get down there before a nurse tells him where you are," Wilson said. "And then we'll all be screwed."

_Damn it_, House thought to himself. What Wilson said made sense, and he didn't like the idea of _anyone_ getting anywhere near that maniac.

"Call Weston," House decided. "Tell her to get up here, and Cuddy, send a memo to every security guard in this building to _watch_ Ryan. Tell them not to make it obvious that he's being watched before someone gets killed."

"I'll meet him. I'll keep him busy," Wilson said and he quickly left the room before someone could protest.

"Greg, there's already a security guard outside your room, okay?" Cuddy told him as she stood up. She didn't have time to worry, to be fearful. She needed to get a job done, and she needed to do it fast. "Greg, please don't drive him away, okay?"

"Lisa," he said, trying to calm her down. "It'll be fine. We'll all be fine."

Cuddy nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. She wasn't going to lose him, she told herself. This would be the last time they'd have to deal with Ryan. She was sure of it, and she'd make it happen.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**Cuddy's office**_

"Mr. Heath," Wilson greeted as soon as he had entered Cuddy's office. Ryan was sitting down on the couch and as soon as Wilson walked in, he stood up and shook his hand.

"I'm not sure if you remember me," Wilson continued. "I'm the oncologist on the board."

"James Wilson," Ryan said, frightening Wilson just that much more. "No, I remember you. Where's Dr. Cuddy?"

Wilson couldn't believe the show Ryan was putting on. What was his plan? Kill off House, donate to the hospital and have a section of the building named after him? What was his motive? Did he think House was already dead? Did he know about the blindness? How much of House's condition _did_ he actually know?

"Dr. Cuddy's…with a colleague," Wilson said, deciding to say the truth, but to remain vague. This way, he avoided suspicion and seemed clueless. "One of the doctors was in an accident a few days ago and she's with him."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Ryan said. If Wilson didn't know any better, he would have mistaken the statement for sincerity. Now he wanted to take Ryan's words and choke him with it.

"But because of the accident, we've been unable to hold a meeting to decide on your donation. The vote's going to be an obvious yes but officially, it just hasn't been possible." _Ha! The vote's not even going to happen because you'll be rotting in prison._

And so the conversation continued, with Ryan pretending to be interested, Wilson stalling and then adding silent comments to himself. All the while, security guards stood by all of the hospital's exits and cops from the Princeton Police Department quickly appraoched.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**10 minutes later**_

House had to pee.

Cuddy had sent him a few messages, updating him on everyone's status. Wilson was fine, security guards were stationed throughout the hospital and Weston was on her way. Everything was working out according to plan. There was no way Ryan could make his way up to the sixth floor of the hospital without someone noticing. House grabbed his IV pole and shuffled out of the room, right past his security guard who was sitting down in a chair outside the room, arms folded across his chest. _And he wonders why he gets paid minimum wage_, House told himself. He rolled his eyes and made his way down the hall. At least he didn't have to make up a lie or blackmail the man which made House's job easier.

A few minutes later, and his mission was accomplished. See? No big deal. Now he could shuffle back to his room and pretend he hadn't gone anywhere. No one would—

"Turn around," demanded a familiar voice just before House turned the door knob. "Turn around. Slowly…"

_**Outside Cuddy's office**_

"Cuddy!" Wilson yelled from the other side of the nurses' station. Cuddy turned around, noticing the frantic tone in his voice.

"What is it?" Cuddy asked, already worried.

"I have no idea where Ryan is," he said. "But the security guards do, right?"

"You lost him!?" Cuddy almost yelled. "How could you lose him?"

"He wanted a document from the hearing," Wilson explained. "I told him to wait in your office, went to pick it up and when I came back he was gone. I was only gone for thirty seconds – he just disappeared--"

"It's alright, we'll find him. He couldn't have gone far. And House is in his room." Cuddy tried to reassure Wilson, knowing he was probably killing himself inside. "Look, you go back to House's room, make sure everything's fine there. I'm going to wait here for Weston."

"Alright," Wilson said before running to catch the next elevator.

_**Sixth floor, Men's Restroom**_

"Turn around. Slowly…"

House complied, cursing his life. He couldn't even pee in goddamn peace. He found himself looking down the barrel of a handgun but noticed that the fear he was so used to experiencing in these situations hadn't dawned on him with full force…just yet.

"You know, you're impossible to get rid of, you know that?" Ryan said with the straightest face ever. And yet, he looked almost annoyed.

"Why the hell do you look so pissed off?" House said, unbelievingly. "You're not the one staring down the wrong end of a gun."

The gun clicked and House had a feeling he had chosen the wrong combination of words. _Oops._

"You never know when to shut up, do you?"

"So I've been told," House said, thinking about all the _other_ times a gun, knife or other relatively harmful object was pointed at him.

"I hate you," Ryan said, and House didn't question the statement. Hatred seeped out of his eyes. "I've always hated you."

"I don't even know you," House retaliated angrily. "And quite frankly I don't like you very much either."

"And _that's_--" Ryan said as he stepped closer to House, slamming the gun into his right temple. "—why I hate you."

Shit, House thought to himself. Okay, okay, time to stall. Beg for forgiveness and feign remorse? No – totally out of character, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Kick him in the nuts? No, because then Ryan's finger would jump and House would finally have his one way ticket to the gates of hell.

So House decided on a more…unconventional approach (or, perhaps, conventional considering it was House). "You better give me a better explanation before you blow my head off," House told him, trying to mask his fear with annoyance. "Because if you don't I swear to God…or Satan…that I _will_ haunt you."

Ryan seemed to consider it and House knew he had already won. "It sounds fair to me," House said. "And I'm the one about to lose my head."

"You're pushing it, you know that?" Ryan said, the gun still pressed on House's head.

Idiot, House thought. That was the problem with these guys – their ego was fifty times larger than their IQ. At least for House his ego and IQ were at about the same level.

"Besides," Ryan said, cocking the gun. "You _do_ know me."

"I'm bad with faces," House half joked, trying not to roll his eyes.

"Oh, come on, Greg," Ryan said, smiling, finally easing up on the gun. "You forget even your own family?"

_**Downstairs, PPTH**_

Cuddy's phone started ringing just as she spotted three police squad cars pull up into PPTH. She quickly pulled out her phone and answered – it was Wilson.

"What?" Cuddy asked as she stepped outside, quickly explaining the situation to Weston and her team.

"House isn't in his room," Wilson spat out frantically. "And the security guard outside passed out on a chair."

Her heart stopped in her chest and for a moment, she completely forgot how to breathe. House was missing. Again.

"Lisa?"

"What happened to the guard?" Cuddy asked, trying to remain focused, relaying the information once more to Weston.

"I don't know, he's unconscious – I think it might be Ryan."

"Of course it's Ryan, damn it!" Cuddy screamed, and was immediately sorry for her outburst. "God, I'm sorry, Wilson – listen, I want the entire hospital put under lockdown _immediately_…"

_**Sixth floor, Men's Restroom**_

"Oh, come on, Greg," Ryan said, smiling, finally easing up on the gun. "You forget even your own family?"

House wasn't sure if he was serious or if he was trying to push his buttons. Was he supposed to be his long lost cousin or something? What was the point of this? Why was he jerking him around? The first thing House said in response to this new revelation was: "Don't call me Greg."

Then after about half a second, he decided to add. "And I still have no idea who you are."

"Of course…you didn't _know_ I was family…just a friend of the family, right?"

"Listen, I have no idea who the hell you are!" House yelled angrily and in an instant, he felt the cold metal of the gun press into his temple once more.

"I wouldn't yell if I were you," Ryan warned him. "Because then I'll shoot you sky high earlier than your time. Got it?"

House stared him down, biting his tongue to keep him from saying anything.

"Come on, House," Ryan taunted. "Ryan's not a familiar name? Well, I guess not Ryan Heath…but Ryan _Andrews_ might be…what, you don't remember the Andrews? We lived on your street in New Jersey!"

Andrews…yeah, so he recognized the name. But what was that supposed to mean? If his last name had been…say _Raskolnikov_ or _Szalcowski_, then he'd say he was on to something.

"But you were never in the States for very long were you, thanks to your dad. But my dad and I did follow you to Egypt on that one trip. It's how I got my idea for your poisoning – the castor beans from Egypt. It turns out your boss ended up with the damn poisoning but the idea was poetic, nonetheless."

Castor beans, Egypt and Ryan Andrews. No, not Ryan. Ryan was his nickname…

"Richard?" House checked.

"Hey, Greg," Ryan said, smirking.

_Don't call me Greg, you creep._ Ryan was the son of House's dad's best friend. To be completely honest, House never liked the kid and had only talked to him when absolutely necessary – like when his dad forced him to. House's dad liked Ryan – Ryan caught up with the military life style. Hell, he _actually_ enjoyed it. House had always preferred the city life and music…pretty much anything his dad disapproved of. House had figured that was another reason his dad really hated him; because he wished he had Ryan – the military brat who actually _liked_ it.

The problem was, that still didn't explain why Ryan hated him so much. House hated _him_, why would it work the other way around?

"What the hell did I do to you?" House asked, honestly considering shoving his IV pole up his ass. "I didn't even like you."

"I _hated_ you."

"Well, that much is obvious."

Ryan slammed the side of his gun into House's jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. He managed to catch himself on the sinks behind him but couldn't help but be surprised at the blow. He hadn't anticipated this 'warm up' session.

"I hated you because you had _everything_ I wanted!" Ryan exploded, shaking the gun angrily. "Your mom paid attention to you. Blythe loved you. My mom? She blew her head sky high because of what Blythe did. And as if that wasn't bad enough, your dad liked me, but was stuck with _you_.

"My life wasn't fair _because_ of you. It was never fair so it was that much harder. Blythe drove my mom to suicide, John wanted nothing to do with you and I couldn't help but think 'You don't deserve anything in that house.' Because half of what you had wasn't yours!"

_What the hell is he talking about_? House wanted to just decide that he was insane and write it all off as psychosis, but in everything he said, he found truth. John, House's dad, hated House. That much was obvious – but he got along with Ryan. House remembered cursing Ryan every time John House even mentioned his name, or applauded something he had done or said. And he remembered the aggravated and disappointed glares he would receive from his father afterwards. Yet, it was Ryan who was jealous – because he felt that he deserved John more than House did.

Well, Ryan could have that son of a bitch for all he cared.

But it was what Ryan said at the end that struck home for House. _Half of what you had wasn't yours_. And why was that?

Because John wasn't House's biological father.

Of course, House had no tangible proof, but he had figured it out when he was twelve, picking up a few things here and there. But the one thing that had started his suspicion was the similar birthmark on a certain friend of the family: Ryan's dad.

But even though House had what he had then called 'proof', he didn't dwell on the information. Sure, he had wondered what it would have been like if he called Ryan's father 'dad' but it had just been a possibility. Something to contemplate every now and then. He had never thought of Ryan as a relation. Even at that young age, nothing was definitive unless he had proof, and he couldn't very well run a DNA test in the middle of Egypt.

But now was no time for contemplation. Now he was faced with facts all at once. What he had once thought of as a possibility was now reality. Ryan's father was House's father.

Which made Ryan...

Oh, shit.

Ryan was his stepbrother.

_My life sucks._

_**Sixth floor, nurses' station**_

By the time the elevator doors opened for Cuddy and Weston to step out onto the sixth floor, the entire hospital was already under lockdown. The police were searching the entire hospital and were determined to find not only House, but Ryan as well. Wilson was waiting for the elevator just as the doors opened for Cuddy. She almost screamed in surprise, not expecting someone to be waiting.

"Jesus, Wilson," she gasped, holding her head as she stepped out.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Have they found anyone?"

"We're still searching, but I assure you, it's impossible for either of them to leave the hospital," Weston told him. "We'll find them. Both."

_**Sixth floor, Men's Restroom**_

_My life sucks. _

"Kinda crazy how everything works out, isn't it?" Ryan taunted.

"So what's your point?!" House said, still not entirely sure why he had to be included in the picture. "I never liked my dad; you can have him for all I care!"

"Yeah, well it's too late for that," Ryan said, aiming his gun, preparing to fire.

"So you're jealous," House tried to rationalize. "My life sucked too if that's any consolation."

"My mother shot herself because of that bitch you call your mother!"

What House did next probably wasn't the smartest decision of his entire life, but he couldn't care any less. His hand formed a fist and he swung, punching Ryan squarely in the jaw. Ryan could call John any derogatory name or term known to man, but the same wasn't true concerning his mother. Besides, who wouldn't cheat on that cow House was forced to call his father?

Ryan was stunned, finding it impossible to believe that House had just punched him. At that moment, Ryan was done with him. He didn't need to explain himself to this son of a bitch. House's simple _existence_ had torn his family apart, and driven Ryan crazy, knowing that what House had wasn't really his. He pointed his gun for the last time, determined to finish this, once and for all.

Just before he pulled the trigger, he heard talking, just outside the doors. Ryan listened, but he could only point out one of the voices – Cuddy's. Ryan's plan was to wait until they were far enough away so he could do away with House and escape through a different restroom door but he noticed House's expression change. House looked anxious now, uneasy and his breathing had quickened. This wasn't just fear, or annoyance. Something had changed. Ryan glanced at the door again, and then back at House who was now watching the door carefully.

"Who's out there?" Ryan asked him, knowing the answer.

"No one," House said quickly, eyeing the gun pointed at him.

"Who's Cuddy?"

"My…boss…"

"Who's she to you?" Ryan asked again, smirking. Oh, this was getting good.

"You like her?" Ryan insisted, motioning at the door with his gun. The simple movement caused House to flinch and at once, Ryan knew he had the answer he wanted.

"Do you love her?" What he was doing to House was on the brink of torture now.

"She did nothing to you, why does it matter?" House said instead, even though he knew that might as well have been an answer.

"Because she…_just_ might save your life."

House wasn't sure if that was a good thing. What did that mean? Was he proposing an exchange? One life for another? Oh, hell, no…

_Is someone in here?_ There was a sharp rap on the door and then the jiggling of the door handle. Cuddy. And the locked doors were proof that someone was in there.

_No, Cuddy, don't come in here! Leave!_ House practically begged. _Please, don't come in here, please…_

"Do you love her, House?" Ryan asked, smiling as he pointed the gun at the door. "Do you?"

"House?" Cuddy called out. "House, are you in there_?"_ The jiggling of the door handle became increasingly frenzied. "Damn it! Greg? Greg!"

_Lisa, don't do this, don't come in here._ House didn't know how to answer Ryan. What would happen if he said yes? Would he use it as an opportunity to push him over the limit and shoot Cuddy? Or if he said no would he use it against him and shoot her anyway? What was the right answer?

"Answer me, damn it!" Ryan yelled, knowing he was being heard.

"Ryan, this is Detective Weston! Open this door immediately or I _will_ shoot it down!"

Ryan hadn't known there was a detective on the other side, which meant he had only a few seconds to act.

"I'll take your silence as a no, Greg," Ryan said and with that, he took a step back, and aimed.

"No, stop!" House yelled, about to tackle him down, but he had already fired. But one shot wasn't enough. Ryan fired again, and again, and again…

_**Sixth floor, outside Men's Restroom**_

"House!" Cuddy screamed just as she heard House scream. Less than a millisecond afterwards, she heard the first gunshot and the bullet exploded through the wall, missing Cuddy, Weston and Wilson by meters.

"Greg! No!" Cuddy screamed, still trying to open the door. Weston pulled her back away from the door just as a full squad of police officers filled the halls. Weston continued to hold back Cuddy who was still screaming while Wilson continued banging the door, trying to get it open himself until one of the officers pulled him away also. And as all this happened, shots were fired inside the restroom one after another without ceasing.

"Greg! Greg! You have to stop it! Greg!"

Again, the shots continued, almost never ending and Cuddy knew they were aimed at Greg – and that the shots were finding their target.

"No!"

Another shot, but this one was fired by the police. The door swung open and the police quickly filed in, prepared to shoot if necessary. Cuddy broke away from Weston and ran into the restroom, praying that there had been some sort of miracle.

She wasn't prepared at all for what she saw.

Gunshot holes decorated the entire restroom. The glass mirror had been shot at least five or six times so glass was everywhere. There were holes from the bullets all over the place – but no Ryan and no blood.

"House?"

"He's right here," One of the officers yelled out and Cuddy quickly made her way towards the voice.

House was on the floor, the upper half of his body curled up under the sinks. Cuddy bent down, unsure of his condition and felt a sharp incision on her palm – glass.

"Greg?" She was sure her heart would explode. She didn't know what to expect anymore. Was he alive? Dead? She got her answer when he slowly turned his head to face her. His upper arm had been covering his face and she noticed that his arm looked like small but sharp razor blades had cut him and that there were even a few pieces of glass stuck in his arm. His blue eyes glanced around uneasily as if to check if the coast was clear. His eyes landed on Cuddy's face, streaked with tears and masked with fear.

"Greg…"

"Hey, Lise," he whispered, overjoyed that she was okay. He wanted to hold her, but the glass everywhere was prickling his skin and he didn't want to get any of it on her.

"Oh, God…we're going to get you out of here…where's Ryan?"

"I don't know…he went out the back--" House said, trying to remember something that had only happened moments ago.

"He's cornered," Weston explained as the officers quickly filed out, listening in on the pursuit on her earpiece. "He's on his way to the interstate and we have three officers in pursuit."

"Let's get him out of here," Wilson said, grateful that House was fine and he quickly left to bring over a gurney.

House's breathing was just beginning to slow down, knowing that Ryan wasn't even in the building anymore. The police were after him, he was cornered. It was over.

"Lisa…?"

"Yeah?"

He chuckled dryly but weakly, as he thought of something. "And all…I wanted to do…was use the bathroom…"

Cuddy didn't know what exactly she was feeling at that moment, but she laughed with him too at first. But eventually, those laughs turned into heart wrenching sobs of relief and joy, knowing for certain that House was going to be fine.

**So…I definitely didn't even realize how…er… 'cheesy'…this idea was until I typed out 'Ryan's father was House's father'. Now I feel like slapping myself. Nevertheless, I have some ideas of where to take this new idea in the long run even after we're done with Ryan. So even if you're thinking 'I can't believe you did this, writingmonkey10' I'll make it worthwhile. **

**So many questions remain…So why didn't Ryan shoot House or Cuddy? Hmmm….? What does the hospital think is going on? What does the team think? **

**And yes, we are almost done with Ryan. Like…super almost done. House has been kidnapped/almost killed more than enough times. I think he deserves a break. A really long break…like forever…or whenever I decide his break was long enough, whichever comes first ;)**

**Review on your way out please. Feel free to chastise me for not updating in so long ;)**

**Song Credit: Family Portrait by P!nk**


	36. Chapter 36

**Sorry about the long wait. I've been really busy – college registration sign ups and what not, scholarship do-dads, AP exams are coming up, prom was a blast…but now that the school year is finally winding down, I'll hopefully be able to update more often. Forgive me? I recommend reading the last chapter again if the wait was too long for you lol…sry guys. **

**And as for the last chapter…ya'll aren't making my job easy, are you? I got reviews from all across the board, telling me the idea was cheesy, not cheesy, to hurt House some more, to leave House alone, to leave House but hurt someone else…yikes, guys! WHAT DO I DO?!? WHAT DO I DO! *hyperventilating, tearing my hair, trashing my room…***

**Haha, I'll try and not disappoint though, how does that sound? XD**

**PS: **melraemorgan** was kind enough to point out that Ryan, in fact is NOT House's stepbrother. Try half brother. So let's pretend I never made such a stupid mistake, ok? ;) Haha, enjoy! **

Chapter 36

The lockdown had lasted twenty minutes and was now over. Yet the entire hospital was still debating whether or not it had been a drill or the real thing. None of the doctors were too excited about it since half of the patients used the lockdown as an opportunity to whine, complain, and beg for some sort of compensation for their discomfort. As if saving their lives wasn't enough.

"Is this a drill?" one of the more annoying patients asked Foreman, who did his best to remain civil.

"We're not entirely sure, which is why it's best to--"

"Damn it, if it's a drill, take me back to my room!"

Foreman rolled his eyes, giving up and had checked on another patient. As Cameron, Chase and Foreman made their way back to House's office, Chase asked aloud, "So does anyone actually know if this was just a drill. Or if some stupid teenager thought it'd be funny to pull an alarm?"

"I have no idea," Foreman admitted.

Cameron, on the other hand, looked much more worried than her colleagues. "It was all too abrupt for it to be a drill…there has to be something wrong."

"We'd all _know_ if there was something wrong," Chase told her, suspicious of the worried look on her face. "Why, do you know something we don't?"

"No," she answered quickly, frowning at the accusation. "I'm just…anxious." Anxious, however, was an understatement. Lockdown was over, but she was still frantic, uneasy, concerned, frightened, worried all rolled up in one. She desperately hoped it had been a drill, but a small portion of her brain…okay, a _huge_ portion of her brain, knew that there was more going on behind the scenes. And she was sure it had to do with House. After everything she had just discovered about her boss the day before, it was almost impossible for her not to at least consider the idea that House was somehow involved – and in a dangerous way.

Chase caught the uneasiness, but wasn't sure if she was just scared, or if her mind was somewhere else. There was something she wasn't telling him. Cameron glanced his way, noticing his suspecting glare.

"What?" Cameron asked abruptly, annoyed.

"What?" Chase repeated, frowning.

"Nothing!"

"You're hiding something," Chase immediately accused. "There's something you know that you're not telling either of us."

Foreman raised an eyebrow, wondering how Cameron would answer but secretly convinced Chase was just paranoid.

"Right," Cameron said sarcastically. "I know the truth behind the lockdown drill and I've finally discovered the purpose of meaning. Any other questions?"

Chase didn't answer her and Cameron dropped the subject. Foreman rolled his eyes, things weren't looking up for these two.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Ow!!"

"House, you need to stay still," Cuddy warned him gingerly, as she attempted to dry off his cheek. It had taken her almost fifteen minutes thanks to his squirming just to clean the area. And she still had to bandage up his arm. The glass from the bathroom mirror had done its damage by grazing, cutting and embedding itself in House's skin. She was sure she had removed most of the glass but only time would tell…and if House would stop squirming maybe she'd be more successful.

"Stop squirming…" she told him to, trying to be as gentle as possible.

"But it stings!" he whined.

"I told you it would sting, now stay still," she told him, trying to take everything as lightly as he did. He still hadn't told her what the hell had happened in there. Lockdown had just been called off, a sign had been hung on the restroom door to keep people from entering, Weston and every other police officer in the state were on the look-out for Ryan, Weston's officers were chasing him as she took care of House's wounds and Wilson was helping the rest of the hospital transition back to routine. In less than twenty minutes, almost everything was back to normal. Cuddy couldn't help but be amazed at how quickly even the most severe circumstance could look like nothing important if you knew which buttons to press.

House grimaced a little and shifted just as Cuddy finished cleaning his cheek. "See, was that so bad?" she told him, throwing aside the sterilized towel. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at how ridiculous the scenario was – he'd been shot just a few months ago and managed to take it, yet he couldn't stop moving because of a few cuts on his cheek. As soon as she was finished with that, she took his arm and repeated the same procedure. Thankfully, she had already finished the sterilizing process and only had to apply the bandage.

"If you don't change the bandage often, I'm going to have to scrub it and that's going to hurt a lot more," she warned him, knowing there was no way in hell he'd actually change it himself.

"Like I'm going to remember that," House said as she tied the bandage. He took a moment to observe her expression since she couldn't do it very well when she was attacking his face with that demon burning cloth. She looked worried, almost as if she had aged in less than an hour. Just by looking at her, he could tell that she was barely keeping it together, and only for his sake.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She glanced up at him for a split second before focusing on what she was doing, a little surprised. _He_ was asking if _she_ was okay? After the incredible bathroom shooting incident _he_ had just gone through? Something was wrong with this picture.

"I'm fine, House," she told him, not entirely sure what he was getting at. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You look like the only thing that's keeping you attached as one piece is a couple pieces of tape."

She chuckled half heartedly. "I'm fine. And if anyone should be asking how anyone's doing it should be me." She glanced at him again. "How you holding up?"

He shrugged, passing it off as 'not much'.

"Great," Cuddy said. "Now that we've broken the ice I can ask what I really want to know. What the hell happened in there?"

"Have you ever heard of psychological whiplash?" House asked sarcastically.

"It's not funny," she told him, tying off the bandage and swallowing the lump in her throat, remembering all the bullets she had heard less than half an hour ago. She had been certain he was dead, and he wanted to make it a joke?

"You're right," he agreed. "It's not." What was he supposed to tell her anyway? _So, Ryan and I had just had a little chit chat. Apparently he's my long lost brother…well, half brother, does that it make slightly more believable? But yeah, we have the same dad…whatever his name was _(oh great. He couldn't even remember his own biological father's name)_ Oh, have I never told you this story? Yeah, I was convinced my dad wasn't my biological father and guess what? I was right! And I even have a wacko half brother to prove it! So Ryan hates me because his mom topped herself when she found out her husband had cheated and Ryan liked my dad better than his own so he felt I had cheated him. I'm evil for existing. I know – makes complete sense. That's me -plotting Ryan's misery when I was just a fetus in my mother's womb. I wasn't just born evil; I was created evil._

Still, House didn't have too much trouble accepting this new revelation. So Ryan was related to him. That's just another thing he could add to his "I bet you didn't know this about me" record. Was it annoying? Of course it was. Now if he said he wanted to kill Ryan, he sounded unnecessarily evil. Yet, this new revelation yielded so many unanswered questions. Did his father…er, adoptive father…know House wasn't his? Did Blythe know she was the cause of Ryan's mother's suicide? Did Ryan's dad - oh what the hell was _his_ name? – know that House was his son?

Unfortunately, the only way House would be able to answer any of these questions would be…to talk to his parents.

Oh, hell no.

Cuddy completed tying the bandage in silence as House weighed his options. Should he just blurt it all out and tell Cuddy now? Or wait until later?

He decided to put off the inevitable conversation for a later time and instead asked, "So how's the chase for our favorite man coming along?"

Cuddy sighed, understanding that House simply didn't want to talk it about what was _really_ important and went with it. "Not sure. But every police officer in New Jersey knows Ryan's bad news and that he should be arrested on the spot. A photo's been made public too--"

"Eric!" House suddenly gasped, slightly pleased with himself.

Cuddy said nothing for a moment. She just frowned at him for a moment before hesitantly saying, "Uh…House? His name is Ryan…"

"What?" House said, he hadn't been really paying much attention to the Ryan update she had been giving him.

"Are you okay?"

"No, I'm fine."

_Yeah, that makes perfect sense_, Cuddy thought to herself. _'No, I'm fine'_. "What's going on?"

He shrugged. Again. "Nothing."

"House…" she pleaded. She felt as if he was isolating himself and placing her in a corner.

"It's nothing, Eric's…" _okay, now how do I finish this sentence? Oh, what the hell_—"my dad," he finished, sighing.

She didn't saying, opening her mouth and then closing it for a second. Why was he talking about his dad all of a sudden? "I thought…your dad's name was John," she started hesitantly.

"Yeah, well, that's what I thought too," House said, knowing that this was bound to be a _long_ conversation.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

She didn't interrupt. Not even once. But House could tell she wanted to – multiple times, and that much was true. It took everything in her power to not interrupt him, knowing that if she did, he'd use it as an opportunity to shut up all together.

"So," Cuddy started after a few moments of silence. "That's it. That's the secret…mystery as to why Ryan wants your head – you're related and because of that, you ruined his life."

House wasn't entirely sure if he should say something or allow her to process. Usually with Cuddy, the moment of silence and calm demeanor was followed by a mini screaming session—

"What the hell!"

--and there it was.

"So he wants to kill _you_ for existing? What, so he wanted to take over your soul and become your alter ego?"

"I know. Because my life was just _awesome_," House said sarcastically.

"This is on the brink of insanity."

"I'd say he already passed that brink."

"Is this normal for you?" Cuddy squealed, suddenly turning on House, quite frankly annoyed at how nonchalantly House was taking this. "Do you usually discover you have a half brother that's out to kill you? Or am I missing something here?" Her annoyance was changing from anger and then to relief. Relief that she _could_ be angry, relief that she could have the chance to be frustrated. He was supposed to be dead right now but instead she was here, talking, discussing, getting angry. The relief, the worry, the news – everything seemed to drop on her head all at one time. And before she knew it, the emotions found their escape through tears.

"Hey, hey," House said, taking her hand, internally hitting himself for making her break. "It's fine--"

"You almost died! Again! And you're sitting here…and it's not funny…" she didn't even know what she was saying anymore. She was angry and relieved. What one word emotion described that anyway?

"You're right it's not...and I'm fine…look, he's gone and now everyone's after him. We're going to be fine. It's over."

Cuddy inhaled deeply, trying to compose herself. "I know," she told him, running her hand along his arm. "But you still make me angry."

House laughed. "Me? What did I do?"

"You never take anything seriously."

"That's not true."

"Prove it," she told him, waiting for his answer.

House thought for a moment, twisting his lip from side to side. "I'm…wondering why Ryan didn't just shoot me when he had the chance."

Cuddy stopped massaging his arm and looked at him, wild eyed. "You…_wanted_ him to shoot you…?"

"No…but he could've. He shot at the door, the walls, the mirror – he purposely didn't shoot me. Why wouldn't he if he had the chance? Unless _not_ shooting me is supposed to mean something…" House's brain was running at a hundred miles an hour, trying to understand Ryan's point. "Unless he didn't _want_ to shoot me, because he knew he would have the chance later…"

"He's coming back," Cuddy said, not liking where this was going.

"Says you. Apparently he was convinced he could scare the shit out of me now. Even give me a heads up, let me know he was going to come back and get the job done."

"Yeah, because he thought he was going to get away," she reassured him. "Now he has an entire state looking for him--"

"If they catch him in time before he jumps borders--"

"Yeah, _state_ borders, Greg! He's not running to Mexico or Canada! And even then they can still catch him. They're going to get him, and send his ass to prison--"

House was about to interrupt her but the door to his room quickly opened as Wilson walked in, panting after running up and down the hospital. "Hey," he said to both of them and to House he asked, "How are you holding up."

House immediately jumped on the occasion to whine. "Mommy stuck me, stung me, burned me" he raised up his arm and pointed to his cheek "and now she's yelling at me!"

"Well, I'm glad you're doing fine," Wilson immediately deadpanned. He turned to Cuddy. "Lockdown's over. And the entire hospital is trying to figure out which teenager messed with the alarms. No one knows if this was a drill or if there's something going on."

"Good," Cuddy said, standing up. "And let them make up whatever they want, I don't care." She turned to House, cleaning up scraps of bandages that she hadn't used. "You can be discharged tomorrow morning," she said, smiling slightly.

"Isn't that…kind of early?" Wilson said, carefully, earning him probably the most frightening, death glare from House. Wilson smiled, hesitantly. "Just kidding," he said weakly.

"I think you can handle it," she told him, knowing that was _exactly_ what he wanted. He had been hospitalized for four days. He was growing restless. "Besides, your team's been wondering where you've been and it won't be long before they manage to draw out the truth from Cameron."

"Good point," Wilson and House said simultaneously.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

_**9 PM, House's room**_

Nothing remotely interesting had happened the rest of the day – there wasn't even an update concerning Ryan which was more worrisome than anything else. Cuddy had spent the last hour curled up in the chair beside House, her arms supporting her head as she talked with him about nothing particularly important which was definitely a change. For the last couple days, all they had talked about was Ryan. Now that he was finally out of the way, they could talk, smile, laugh.

Now, Cuddy was starting to doze off; exhaustion was finally catching up to her. And while she slept, House indulged himself in his own worry. The fact that Ryan hadn't killed him earlier that day still scared him. But he wasn't scared for himself. Ryan now knew for certain how much Cuddy meant to House, which was exactly what House had been trying to hide from him. Now Ryan had a new target – Lisa. And if the police didn't find him…he didn't want to think about the possibilities.

He moved a stray strand of hair away from her face and curled it behind her ear. "Hey…Lise…"

"What…?" she murmured quietly.

"You need to sleep," he told her.

"I am…"

"Not here," he said, smiling to himself. "Go home and sleep properly. You need it."

She sat up, knowing he was right, but not ready to leave – partly because she was tired and partly because she simply didn't want to leave _him_.

"I'll be here tomorrow morning," he reassured her.

"Alright," she told him as she stood up to leave. She kissed him and told him, "I love you."

"Me too," he told her just before she left the room.

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

"Good morning, Angels!!" House announced, slamming three blue files on the differential desk. Foreman, Chase and Cameron simply stared at him, wondering where the hell he had come from.

"Where have you been?" Chase asked, more curious than anything else.

House sighed. "I know I've been gone for a while but 'Good morning, Angels!' is code for 'look at the damn file'."

"What happened," Foreman said, referring to the scratches and bruises on his right cheek.

"Motorcycle accident," he said, acknowledging and dismissing the topic all in one stride. "Now, back to the pretty blue file."

It was really thanks to Cuddy he was able to get to work on time…or relatively on time. Cuddy had brought in a change of clothes for House to wear that morning, both of them deciding that the sooner he came in for work, the less talk there would be.

"Patient's a heavy drinker and was brought in half in a coma because he was so drunk, it could just be liver related – cirrhosis," Cameron said, referring to the patient.

Chase and Foreman glanced Cameron, and then at each other while Cameron looked up, making a face at both of them. House rolled his eyes, instantly understanding the hidden interaction. Cameron was more concerned with the patient than she was with House's latest disappearing stunt and the fact that he'd been in a motorcycle accident. Great – this was bound to raise suspicions.

Foreman took the hint and directed his attention to the file in front of him. "Cirrhosis wouldn't explain the irregular heart rhythms – hyperthyroidism is more likely."

"Go look for both," House demanded, making his way toward his office. He hung his cane on the sill above the door and went through the stack of paperwork ahead of him. _Cameron's got a lot on her plate_, House decided, knowing there was no way in hell he'd actually do any of it himself.

He sensed that someone was behind him and he quickly turned to find Cameron standing behind him.

"Since when were you not included in my "go save the patient" demands?" House asked.

"Cuddy told me what happened," she said instead. "With Ryan, and the restaurant…the pneumonia, the blindness…"

"I know," House said, bursting her bubble, having a feeling the conversation was going to end with Cameron feeling bad about a) something _House_ said or b) the fact that House didn't care what _she_ said.

"Yesterday, the hospital was put under lockdown. The thing is…no one knew if it was a drill or if there was really a problem…was there something going on?" Cameron knew without a shadow of a doubt that there indeed _had_ been something going on yesterday and that it involved House and Ryan. She just needed the confirmation. And House could tell as much – she simply wanted to know. Yes, mostly because she cared but not because she wanted to talk. _Thank God_.

"I suggest you keep your mouth shut," House told her simply. There was no point trying to lie to her. She knew.

"Sure," she said simply, shaking her head slightly. "Is he…did they…find him?" Cameron asked hesitantly.

House didn't say anything as he shoved all the papers on his desk to one side. After a moment, he finally looked up at her and answered. "No." Why was he even answering her questions?

Cameron twisted her lip. "Alright…" She sounded worried. No, _scared_.

House sighed. "Entire state of New Jersey is out looking for him right now. He's not going to be here any time soon."

"Yeah, tell me that when they actually catch him and maybe I won't freak out as much."

He chuckled and smiled half heartedly. "That's pretty much along the same lines of what I was thinking sometime last night."

Cameron smiled a little and started backing out of the door. "I'll go attack/save our patient now," she said as she left him and his pile of paperwork. She didn't even realize Chase was waiting just outside the door and half ran into him.

"What the hell!" Cameron exclaimed, realizing he had been spying on her.

"What was that?" Chase asked simply, ignoring her outburst.

"What was what?" Cameron shot back as the two of them made their way toward the patient's room.

"You and him…you and _House_."

"Why are you jealous?" Cameron asked, honestly amused. "I told you I'm over him."

"You were _smiling_."

"It's true. We're sleeping together."

"_He_ was smiling," Chase added, ignoring the joke. "House. Was smiling. At something you said."

"Chase you honestly need to stop--"

"Overreacting? I'm not overreacting."

"I didn't even say anything," Cameron quickly pointed out.

"If there's something you're not telling me."

"About what? Me dating House? It's not happening, there's nothing to tell!"

"You've been like this for the last couple days…I can tell you're hiding something and whatever it is I know it involves House. What do you expect me to think?"

"I expect you to trust me," Cameron said simply, hardly believing how serious Chase was.

"You don't even trust me enough to tell me what's going on."

"I…can't…" Cameron said, finally admitting that there was indeed something to tell. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you. But I am _not_ dating House. I need you to trust me."

Chase didn't say anything for a moment. He just looked at her, trying to tell himself that there was nothing more to do. He had to trust her. "Alright," he said simply. But Cameron could easily translate that into, "I can't."

**[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse[H]ouse**

House was in the elevator on his way downstairs to the cafeteria when the doors opened and in walked Cuddy.

"Rumor mill is running at full speed," Cuddy told House, looking more amused than frustrated.

"About what?" House asked, preparing himself for the worst. Did they know about Ryan?

"About you…and Cameron," Cuddy said smiling now.

House immediately frowned. "What?"

"Apparently the two of you were seen in your office…together…_smiling_," Cuddy couldn't hold it in anymore. She had to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing.

"When was this?" House asked, honestly trying to remember this encounter.

"I'd say…about three hours ago…"

House thought about it…Cameron had walked in, talked to him about Ryan and then walked out. Had he even smiled?

"You honestly don't even remember, do you?"

"I remember the encounter…" he said, still thinking about it. How the hell did something as simple as that become a 'are you dating?' flagship?

"You and Cameron…that'll be the day," Cuddy said, still laughing.

"Why are even laughing?" House asked, amused. "Aren't you supposed to be questioning me? Making sure I'm not really doing Cameron on the side?"

"Well apparently I trust you enough to not do your employees and flaunt it knowing that you're dating _your boss_."

"That's true," House said, pretending to think about it. "Are you sure it's not _also_ because you trust me so damn much?"

Cuddy laughed and kissed him just before they reached their floor. "I guess that's another reason. Or because I love you."

House smiled. "Me too."

Immediately, the smile on Cuddy's face disappeared. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Say _that_. You never say you love me."

"I do…" House whined.

"No, you don't, you always say 'me too' and it's not the same," she accused, looking more disappointed if anything else. At that moment, the elevator doors opened.

"You know I mean it," House told her.

"I want to _hear_ it," she told him. And with that, she walked off, before House could even say anything.

_Women!_ he thought to himself as he made his way to the cafeteria to look for Wilson. Lunch time.

**Mkay so I'm pretty sure there are typos and stuff but I'm tired and don't feel like checking so you're going to have to read it and pretend there are no typos okay? LOL, bye! Review please and I'll try to update soon! :)**


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